MOPSffN  LIFt 


EDfTED  *    HENRI    PENS  DU  BOiS 


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Mnwertsfy  s<>f     (Q 


A  GALLIC  GIRL 


THE  MODERN  LIFE  LIBRARY       EDITED 
BY  HENRI  PENE  DU  BO  IS 


A  GALLIC  GIRL 

(  Le  Manage  de   Chiffon  ) 


BY 


TRANSLATED  BY  THE  EDITOR 


JQeto  JBorfc: 
BRENTANO'S 

CHICAGO  WASHINGTON  PARIS 


Copyright,  iSqj,  by 
BRENTANO'S 


THE   CAXTON    PRESS 
NEW    YORK 


INTRODUCTION. 

When  I  was  a  child  I  heard  a  young 
woman  say:  "I  never* read  novels.  Their 
story  is  a  perpetual  one  of  a  girl  who  falls 
from  a  third-story  window  safely  into  the 
arms  of  her  lover. ' '  Oh,  how  I  have  searched 
for  that  novel ! 

I  know  very  well  now  that  novels  are  as 
we  read  them,  not  as  they  are  written,  and 
that  the  gentle  young  woman  whose  curious 
phrase  still  haunts  my  reminiscences  of  the 
days  when,  the  weather  was  always  bright, 
had  doubtless  received  her  impression  from 
the  "Vicar  of  "Wakefield,"  or  "Clarissa 
Harlowe,"  or  any  other  novel  entirely  inno- 
cent of  conveying  her  naive  idea. 

It  is  a  naive  idea,  but  it  is  truer  than  if  it 
were  learned  and  complicated  as  are  the 
subtleties  that  Bourget  molds  into  fault- 
lessly vague  phrases,  for  love,  beauty,  art, 
that  make  life  endurable,  give  one  the 


sr  1 


4217 


VI.  INTRODUCTION. 

strange  feeling  of  falling  from  a  height  that 
may  be  expressed  in  the  image  that  the 
young  woman  had  in  her  mind. 

Gyp  gives  one  this  impression.  Her  style, 
sketched  and  not  finished,  her  wit  never 
labored,  the  vividness  with  which  she  trans- 
fers into  words  fugitive  notes  of  conversa- 
tions and  passing  nights  of  ideas,  are  her 
distinctive  qualities,  I  should  think ;  but  it 
is  folly  to  analyze  them,  as  to  analyze  any- 
thing else  in  this  world  where  the  preten- 
tions  of  chemists  have  already  spoiled  so 
many  things.  A  countess,  a  descendant  of 
people  who  have  been  refined  and  full  of 
tact  for  generations,  a  clever  painter,  a  suc- 
cessful dramatist,  a  delicate  little  athlete,  a 
moralist  of  the  serious,  immovable  quality 
that  forms  of  morality  may  not  affect — is 
not  her  philosophy  admirable? 

Her  heroines  are  popular.  They  are  not 
the  heroines  of  ideal  and  sublime  love. 
They  are  not  like  those  whom  Ronsard, 
Lamartine  and  Alfred  de  Yigny  immortal- 
ized. They  are  not  Cassandra,  Marie, 
Helene  de  Surgeres,  Laure,  Eloa,  Elvire, 


INTRODUCTION.  VII. 

but  of  the  same  race  as  Alix,  Isabeau  and 
Alisoun,  in  favor  of  whom  the  common  peo- 
ple will  never  forgive  to  Beatrice  the  dis- 
dainful air  of  her  aristocratic  silhouette  cut 
out  of  a  panel  of  azure.  Darling  is  one  of 
Villon's  heroines  in  a  higher  grade. 

Manners  and  the  decorations  of  life  are 
incessantly  changing.  It  is  not  thus  with 
literary  forms,  the  number  of  which  is  ex- 
tremely limited.  That  is  why  we  should 
preserve  carefully  those  that  exist,  and 
when  any  of  them  has  fallen  into  desuetude 
try  to  bring  it  to  life  again.  The  novel  is 
marvellously  useful  to  represent  modern 
life,  which  is  so  complicated  and  diverse 
that  one  can  never  see  it  in  a  synthetic 
form.  It  may  appear  to  us  only  in  its 
episodes,  by  short  rhapsodies  wherein  are 
instantaneously  fixed  the  innumerable  skir- 
mishes of  our  Iliad. 

An  isolated  being  should  not  be  ignorant 
of  any  of  the  springs  that  move  us  or  of  the 
passions  that  destroy  us.  He  may  find 
them  in  such  works  as  Gyp's.  They  are 
never  tedious.  She  never  thought  of  writ- 


VIII.  INTRODUCTION. 

ing  for  posterity  -  -  "  Elle  s'en  moque."     I 
like  that,  don't  you? 

Women  will  easily  realize  that  this  series 
is  made  for  them,  since  there  have  been 
banished  from  it  all  the  banal  conventions 
which  people  pretend  to  make  them  accept 
as  if  they  were  articles  of  faith.  I  have 
thought  that  virtue  and  love  were  things 
great  enough  in  themselves  to  dispense  with 
hypocritical  lies  and  sentimental  fictions. 
HENRI  PENE  DU  Bois. 


A  GALLIC  GIRL. 


i. 


-An  officer's  wife!  What  a  trade.  I 
would  rather  be  an  usher  in  a  public 
school. 

The    Marquise    de    Bray    shrugged    her 
shoulders. 

-  When  you  learn  wTho  the  officer  is... 
—  Even  if  it  is  M.  de  Trene,  whom  they 

say  is  so  stylish,  I  wouldn't  have  him,  so... 

-  You    wouldn't    have    him?      Really? 
Yet   you  haven't  the  right  to  be  hard  to 
please,  since... 

-  "  ...since  your  father  left  nothing  ex- 
cept debts,  and  you  haven't  a  cent. . .  "     Oh, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


-  know  that  phrase ;  you  have  repeated  it  to 
me  often  enough  for  me  not  to  forget  it! 
-Well,  then?... 

—  Well,  even  if  I  haven't  a  cent,  I  will 
never  marry  against  my  will... 

—  Especially  -   -  M.  de   Bray   said   tim- 
idly —  since,   although  you  are  not  rich, 
you  have  a  dowry  - 

—  A  dowry?  —  said  the  child  in  aston- 
ishment. —  A  dowry  that  you  give  me? 

Her  tender  eyes,  pale  gray,  which  laughed 
through  lashes  astonishingly  long  and 
bushy,  rested  affectionately  on  her  step- 
father. 

Irritated,  Mme.  de  Bray  replied  drily : 

—  It  is  useless  to  teach  her  what  she  need 
not  know,    and   make   her  still   harder  to 
please. 

-  How  am  I  hard  to  please  ?  —  exclaimed 
Coryse  indignantly  —  In  what  am  I  hard  to 
please?  I  was  sixteen  three  months  ago, 
and  nobody  that  I  know  has  asked  to  marry 
me. 

—  Yes,    somebody   has  asked,  and  you 
refuse  before  vou  know  who  he  is. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


—Because  I  will  not  marry  an  officer. . . 
Never !  I  meet  officers'  wives  here !  That 
isn't  what  is  lacking  in  the  four  regiments. 
For  nothing  in  the  world  would  I  be  in 
their  place.  I  haven't  the  temperament. 
I  am  not  polite  enough.  I  know  that  if  my 
colonel  had  a  wife  like  ^fme.  de  Bassigny, 
for  instance,  nothing  could  induce  me  to 
call  on  her,  nothing ! 

And  turning  to  the  back  parlor,  as  if  to 
find  there  a  support,  she  asked : 

-  Am  I  not  right,  Uncle  Marc? 
Without  giving  Uncle  Marc  the  time  to 

reply,  Mme.  de  Bray  declared : 

-  This    does    not    concern   your   uncle. 
"Will  you,   yes,  or  no,   listen  to  me  for  a 
moment? 

And  in  a  solemn  tone : 
—The  one  who  does  you  the  honor  to  ask 
you  to  marry  him  is  the  Due  d'Aubieres. 

She  stopped,  counting  on  her  daughter's 
astonishment.  In  fact,  Coryse's  little  face 
expressed  extreme  stupor.  Mme.  de  Bray 
mistook  this  stupor  for  joyful  surprise,  and 
asked  triumphantly : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


—  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  to  this? 

-  "Well,  -  -  replied   the  little  girl,    who 
burst  into  a  laugh  —  I  say  that  I  am  dumb- 
founded ! 

And  without  caring  for  the  threatening 
looks  of  her  mother,  she  continued  placidly  : 
-Yes,  he  must  be  at  least  forty,  M. 
d'  Aubieres,  since  he  is  a  colonel...  He  is 
rather  homely...  And  I  hear  people  say 
that  he  hasn't  much  money... 

The  Marquise  stared  at  her  daughter,  and 
contemptuously : 

—Oh,  it's  perfect.  Now  she  also  wants 
money. 

Coryse  shook  her  too  blondish  head. 

-  Oh,  not  at  all !     Money  is  indifferent 
to  me,  provided  I  am  not  a  Duke...     I  mean 
a  Duchess.     It  is  ridiculous,  a  big  title  with 
no  money.     I  do  not  say  that  if  I  had  one 
by  birth  I  would,  under  pretext  that  I  am 
not  rich,  bury  it  in  a  cavern. . .     No  !     My 
title  would  bother  me,  but  I  would  wear  it 
all  the  same,  since  it  would  not  be  my  fault. 
Anyhow,  it  isn't  only  because  of  the  title 
that  I  say  no  ! 


A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


—  Because  of  the  career?— 

—  It  is,  above  all,  because  of  the  man. 

-  But    you    have    repeated   a   hundred 
times  that  M.  d' Aubieres  was  charming  and 
that  you  liked  him  a  great  deal. 

-Certainly,  I  like  him  a  great  deal... 
but  not  to  marry  him.  In  the  first  place,  I 
find  him  old,  and  then,  if  I  had  to  spend  all 
my  time  with  him,  I  haven't  the  least  idea 
that  it  would  be  very  funny. 

The  marquise  looked  at  her  husband  and 
replied : 

-  Nobody  marries  for  fun ! 

-  Well,  it  happens  that  I  will  not  marry 
for  anything  else ! 

-  That  child  is  crazy !    I  prefer  to  retire ! 
And  rising,  with  a  movement  which  she 

thought  was  noble  and  which  was  ridicu- 
lous, the  marquise  went  out  of  the  parlor. 
"When  the  door  was  shut,   M.    de  Bray 
said  softly : 

-  You  are  wrong,  my  little  Coryse,  to... 
Coryse,  whom  her  mother's  exit  had  left 

calm,  in   the   old  armchair   of   faded   silk 
wherein  she  disappeared,  stood  up  quickly : 


6  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  Why  do  you  call  me  Coryse?     Why 
don't  you  say  Darling?     Are  you  cross  with 
me,  too? 

-  I  am  not  cross  at  all,  but. . . 

-  Yes,  you  are  cross !     I  can  see,   and 
then,  what  did  you  wish  to  say  when  I  cut 
you? 

-  Nothing,  I  do  not  remember ! 

-  I  know !     You  were  saying,  "  You  are 
wrong  to  "...  I  am  wrong  to  do  what? 

-  To  discuss  with  your  mother  as  you 
do. 

-  Then  I  must  let  myself  be  married  in 
spite  of  myself... without  defending  myself? 

- 1  do  not  say  that. 

—  Then  what  do  you  say? 

-  I  say  that. . .  that  without. . .  without. . . 

-  You  see,  you  are  stuttering ! 
-But... 

-  You  are  stuttering,  there  is  no  ques- 
tion about  it!     I  defy  you  to  get  out  of 
your  explanation.     Yes,  either  I  let  people 
impose  upon  me  and  I  do  not  discuss,  or  I 
discuss  and  do  not  let  people  impose  upon 
me. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


-  You  might  discuss...  but  with  another 
tone   and   in  other  terms. . .  your   language 
exasperates  your  mother. 

-  Yes,  I  know,  she  likes  the  noble  style ! 
All  the  tenderness  and  infinite  kindness 

contained  in  the  eyes  of  the  child  disap- 
peared, and  she  added  in  a  harsh  voice  : 

-  She  is  so  distinguished ! 

M.  de  Bray  said  with  a  desolate  air  : 

-  You  make  me  very,  very  sorry. . . 

-  And  I  would  never  cause  you  the  least 
pain  !     I  like  you  so  much. 

—  So  do  I  like  you,.. 

-  Then,  why  do  you  want   to  send  me 
away...  to  marry  me  in  spite  of  everything? 

-  But  I  do  not  wish  to... 

-  Yes,  you  do  wish  to. . .  and  I  am  not 
sixteen   and   a  half  years  old.     Please  let 
me  alone. . .  Let  me  live  here  a  little  longer. . . 

She  counted  on  her  fingers  : 

-  Five  years. . .  not  even  five  years. . .  after 
that  I  will  go  away,  I  promise  it  to  you... 
I  promise  it  to  you. . . 

The  sweet  gray  eyes  were  troubled  and 
round  tears,  similar  to  balls  of  glass,  fell 


A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


without  changing  their  form  on  the  fresh 
cheeks  of  Coryse. 

Corysande  d'Avesnes,  who  was  called 
Coryse,  or  more  ordinarily  Darling,  was  a 
solid  and  supple  little  girl,  more  a  child 
than  a  young  girl,  with  the  angles  and  the 
disproportions  of  childhood  and  the  trans- 
parent skin  of  very  little  folks — a  skin 
under  which  pink  lights  ran.  Her  harmo- 
nious movements,  although  a  little  awk- 
ward, recalling  those  of  a  young  spaniel, 
irritated  her  mother  almost  as  much  as  her 
too  little  correct  language. 

Much  infatuated  with  herself,  the  Mar- 
quise de  Bray  considered  in  general  all 
those  with  whom  social  necessities  obliged 
her  to  live  as  poor,  inferior  beings  to  whom 
she  did  the  great  honor  of  her  condescen- 
sion. She  had  passed  her  life  disdaining 
and  tormenting  the  good  and  simple  people 
who  surrounded  her.  Her  first  victim  was 
the  Comte  d'Avesnes,  Coryse's  father,  who 
had  the  wit  to  die  in  two  years,  without 
ever  having  felt  much  compunction  in  or- 
ganizing elsewhere  an  existence  which  he 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  9 

found  impossible  at  home.  His  widow,  re- 
maining without  a  fortune,  had  lived,  with 
her  daughter,  with  an  uncle  and  an  aunt 
who  adored  the  child.  Mme.  d'Avesnes 
made  rare  apparitions  at  the  house  where 
Uncle  and  Aunt  de  Launay  raised  the  child. 
She  traveled,  passing  her  fctime  in  Paris  or 
among  friends,  unable,  she  said,  to  become 
accustomed  to  provincial  life. 

It  was  during  one  of  her  visits  at  Pont- 
sur-Sarthe  that  she  pleased  M.  de  Bray. 
He  was  rich  enough  and  charming.  She 
was  beginning  to  get  old  and  realized  that 
her  beauty,  made  of  freshness  and  bril- 
liancy, would  suddenly  vanish.  Instead 
of  being  for  the  Marquis  what-  she  had  been 
for  many  others,  she  softly  and  skilfully 
led  him  into  marriage.  Resigned  to  reign- 
ing over  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  since  she  could 
not  shine  elsewhere,  she  married  M.  de 
Bray,  saying  loudly  that  she  married  only 
that  her  daughter's  future  might  be  secure. 

Then  began  for  the  poor  husband  the 
frightful  life,  made  of  yells  and  of  silence, 
of  scenes  and  of  compromises,  which  his. 


10  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

predecessor  had  led,  as  also  Uncle  and 
Aunt  de  Launay,  who  bore  everything  for 
love  of  their  little  darling. 

But  it  was  for  her  daughter  that  Mme. 
de  Bray  reserved  her  worst  persecutions. 
Everything  in  the  nature  of  the  child 
crossed  her  narrow  ideas — narrow  from 
certain  points  of  view  and  measurably  large 
from  other  points  of  view.  A  monomaniac 
about  nobility — and  money  also — liking 
above  everything  display  and  pose,  she 
could  not  forgive  in  little  Coryse  a  sim- 
plicity that  she  did  not  understand.  Hav- 
ing, properly  speaking,  no  determinate  type, 
the  Marquise  had  created  one  with  many 
diverse  and  commonplace  images.  She  had 
learned  to  talk  at  the  playhouse  and  to 
think  in  novels,  and  as  she  had  no  delicacy 
of  sentiment  or  of  sensation,  she  applied 
badly  what  she  did  not  understand  and 
succeeded  when  she  wished  to  be  tragic, 
for  instance,  in  producing  effects  intensely 
comic,  which  provoked  in  Darling  explo- 
sions of  gaiety. 

Commonplace  in  manner  and  appearance, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  11 

Mme.  cle  Bray  incessantly  reproached  her 
daughter  for  being  common  and  lacking  the 
distinction  which  was  an  ' '  appanage  of  the 
d'Avesnes !  ': 

Seeing  Coryse  cry,  M.  de  Bray  thought 
of  nothing  except  consoling  her. 

-  Now  my  little   darling. . .    be    reason- 
able... it  will  be  all  right. 

She  replied,    shaking  discouragingly  her 
little  head : 

—  It  will  be  all  right  if  I  marry  M.  d' Au- 
bieres?     Well,    I    would   ask  for   nothing 
better,  you  may  be  sure,  if  I  did  not  feel 
that  if  I  did  this  I  would  commit  a  bad  act 
and  make  him  miserable.     I  would  marry 
him  at  once  so  that  you  could  get  rid  of 
me. 

-  It  is  wrong  of  you  to  say  that ! 

—  I  am  not  saying  it  to  you. . .  you  know 
very  well. 

—  But  your  mother  is  not  more  anxious 
than  I  am  to  see  you  quit  us. 

—  Oh  yes,    she  thinks  of  nothing  else. 
She  is  so  afraid  that  I  will  not  marry,  and 
above  all  that  I  will  not  make  a  fine  mar- 


12  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

riage. . .  not  that  I  may  be  happy,  that  is  not 
the  reason  why  she  cares...  oh,  no,  that  is 
only  a  trifle. . .  but  for  her  vanity,  so  that 
she  may  have  the  satisfaction  of  being  en- 
vied by  such  and  such  people... to  amaze 
the  people  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  and  to 
bother  her  friends....  not  for  anything 
else. 

—  I  am  thoroughly  grieved  to  hear  you 
talk  thus  of  your  mother. 

-  I  cannot  help  it.     I  must  say  what  I 
think. 

—Precisely,  you  must  not  think. . . 

-  How  do  you  want  me  not  to   think? 
How  can  you  think  that  I  may  believe  she 
likes  me?     Before  you  came  here,  did  she 
ever  take  the  slightest  interest  in  me  except 
to   scold  me,  or  to  scold  those  whom  she 
accused  of  spoiling  me?    Would  I,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  Uncle  and  Aunt  de  Launay, 
and  for  you  later,  ever  have  been  cared  for 
and  caressed?     Oh,  yes,  she  fondled  me — 
twice  a  year — when  she  went   away,    and 
when   she  returned  from   her  travels.     It 
happened  at  the  door,  where  I  held  to  the 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  13 

skirts  of  my  nurse,  trembling  to  see  her  re- 
enter  the  house,  which  was  so  peaceful 
when  she  was  not  there.  Oh,  these  were 
real  transports  of  fond  affection !  4 c  My 
Corysande,  my  beloved  daughter."  One 
would  have  thought  that  we  were  playing  a 
drama,  and  that  I  had  just  been  found  at  the 
bottom  of  a  well!  And  she  raised  me  in 
her  arms...  and  she  crushed  me  on  her  cor- 
set. All  this,  was  for  the  servants  and  the 
stage  driver. . .  but  as  they  knew  her  well, 
it  didn't  fool  them !  Anyway,  regularly 
the  little  scene  of  the  melodrama  was  ex- 
hibited to  them. 

And,  become  joyful  again,  the  child  con- 
cluded : 

-  She  was  always  lacking  in  simplicity, 
you  know. 

-  You  exaggerate  some  imperfections. 

-  I  exaggerate?     You  cannot  think  that, 
you  who  put  on  no  airs  at  all. 

—  You  take  pleasure  in  opposing  your 
mama  about  nothing. 

—  Your  c '  mama ' ' !  take  care. . .  she  might 
hear  you. 


14  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

M.  de  Bray  looked  at  the  door  with  an 
anxious  air,  and  she  exclaimed : 
-You  are  afraid,  aren't  you? 
And  in  a  solemn  tone  : 

-You  have  forgotten  that  "  mama  "  is  a 
word  good  enough  for  janitors...  people  who 
are  well  born  talk  differently. 

-  Since  she  has  the  weakness  to  care  for  a 
trifle  like  this,  why  not  satisfy  her? 

— JBut  I  do  satisfy  her!  But  I  do  noth- 
ing else !  When  I  talk  to  her,  I  do  not  call 
her. . .  I  avoid. . .  but  when  I  talk  of  her  I  say 
"my  mother,"  as  big  as  your  arm...  my 
mouth  is  full  of  it,  but  not  my  heart !  Oh, 
it  isn't  my  fault...  I  have  tried...  especially 
since  you  have  replaced  my  poor  papa ! 
You  were  so  good  to  the  savage  and  ugly 
little  girl  who  would  not  look  at  you...  and 
I  have  loved  you  so  much  since  I  have  known 
you  that  to  please  you  I  would  have  been 
glad  to  love  your  wife.  But  I  couldn't ! 

-  What  you  are  saying  is  abominable ! 
—  How  is  it?     I  am  attached  to  her,  I 

would  be   much  grieved  if  anything  hap- 
pened to  her  and  I  wish  her  only  happi- 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  15 

ness...  but  when  I  don't  see  her  I  breathe 
more  freely — that's  sure ! 

Seeing  the  discomfited  air  of  her  step- 
father, she  said : 

—  You    know    everything  that  I    have 
said ;  I  never  said  it  to  anybody  except  you. 

-  It's  lucky !  —  muttered  the  poor  man. 

-  It's  true  I  have  no '  confidence  in  any- 
body but  you. 

She  glanced  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
Comte  de  Bray,  who  was  silently  rocking  in 
a  bamboo  armchair,  and  added  : 

—  And  also  in  Uncle  Marc...  why  don't 
you  say  something,  Uncle  Marc? 

Uncle  Marc,  a  tall  fellow,  long  and  ele- 
gant, replied  in  a  singing  voice  : 

—  Because  I  have  nothing  to  say.     Any- 
way, your  mother  always  imposes  silence 
upon  me  before  I  ever  try  to  speak,  conse- 
quently. . . 

- 1  know !     But  she  is  not  here ! 

—  Since  she  is  not  here,  you  have  said 
things  which  were  about  right,  my  poor 
Darling,  and,  as  I  cannot  tell  you  that  you 
are  right,  I  hush... 


16  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  You  are  good,  too ! 

—  Oh,  excellent !  But  leave  me  alone  — 
he  added,  rising  brusquely  and  brushing 
aside  Coryse,  who  had  climbed  on  his  knees 
like  a  baby. 

She  asked  in  surprise : 
-Why  do  you  push  me  like  that? 

—  Because  you  are  too   big  to  do  such 
things.     At  your  age,  oughtn't  you  to  have 
better  manners? 

—  What  manners?     Can't   I  go  on  my 
uncle's  knees,  now? 

And  with  a  reserved  air  she  concluded : 

—  Oh,  if  you  were  not  my  uncle ! 

—  Well  then  -  -  replied  Marc  de  Bray 
harshly  -  -  precisely,      I      am      not     your 
uncle ! 

-  Oh !  —  the  little  girl  said  grievously 
—  Oh,  how  wicked  you  are  to  tell  me  that! 
and  she  sobbed  on  the  cushions  of  the 
divan. 

—  Well  —  asked  Uncle  Marc,  irritated  — 
what  is  the  matter  with  her  to-day?     She 
does  not  cry  easily,  and  she  is  crying  all  the 
time !     She  is  unbearable ! 


A   GALLIC    GIRL.  17 

—  Have    a  little    indulgence  —  said   M. 
de  Bray  —  she  is   irritated  over  this  mar- 
riage affair. 

—  I  understand  that. 

—  Take  care  that  she  does  not  hear  you. 
She  would  definitely  send  poor  Aubieres  to 
the  devil ! 

-"Well?  I  hope  you  "are  not  going  to 
let  this  monstrous  thing  happen. 

-Her  mother  cares  so  much  that  it 
should  happen ! 

—  Her    mother    is    mad!      Aubieres    is 
twenty-five  years  older  than  Darling ! 

—  If  gossip  talks  truly,  little   de  Liron 
adores   you...    and  she    is    twenty     years 
younger  than  you  are. 

—  Admitting  that  this  is  true. . .  she  adores 
me  to-day,  but  to-morrow. . . 

-  I  will  cite  to  you  the  example  of  our 
mother,  who  was  twenty-five  years  younger 
than  her  husband,  and  who  always  loved 
him  passionately. 

—  I  will  reply  that   these  are   examples 
which  one  finds  only  in  one's  own  family... 
fortunately !     In  the  meanwhile,  poor  Bar- 


18  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

ling  is  crying  so  much  that  it  is  painful  to 
look  at  her. 

He  went  to  the  divan,  and  putting  his 
hand  on  her  neck  said  affectionately : 

- 1  ask  your  pardon,  little  Darling,  for 
having  grieved  you. . . 

She  lifted  her  head  and  asked  : 

—  Why  were  you  so  wicked ;  why  did  you 
say  you  were  not  my  uncle? 

—  Because,  although  I  love  you  as  much 
as  if  I  were,   I  am  not  your  uncle.     I  am 
the  brother  of  your  mother's  husband,  I  am 
nothing  to  you,  I  might  marry  you...  if  I 
were  not  of  the  same  age  as  my  friend  Au- 
bieres,    whom  you   so  gently  send  to   the 
devil. 

-  Oh  —  exclaimed  the  child  in  astonish- 
ment -  -  you   are  of   the  same    age  as   M. 
d'Aubieres? 

And  she  added  laughingly, 

-  Well,  you  are  not  as  much  of  a  degen- 
erate   as   he   is.     Yes...   degenerate  is  the 
right  word.     I  heard  it  the  other  day  from 
a  man  in  the  street  who  used  it  to  explain 
to  me  that  his  wife  was  somewhat  broken  up. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  19 

The  marquis  asked  anxiously : 

-  You  talked  with  a  man  in  the  street?. . . 
what  man? 

-  A  man  whom  I  met  when  I  returned 
from  school. . .  I  suppose  he  must  have  been 
a  street  sweeper. . .  or  a  rag  picker. 

-  If  your  mother  had  seen  you  talking 
with  that  man,  she. . . 

-  She  would  have  yelled,  I  know  very 
well.     But  she  did  not  see  me. 

And    turning    brusquely    toward    Uncle 
Marc,  she  asked : 

-  Well,  whether  you  are  my  uncle  for 
true  or  not,  I  have  called  you  my  uncle  for 
five  years  and  believe  that  you  are,  just  as  I 
believe  when  people  are  not  trying  to  dis- 
concert me  that  papa  is  papa.     So  you  can 
very  well  advise  me.     Must  I  or  must  I  not 
marry  M.  d'Aubieres? 

-  What  you  ask  is  very  embarrassing. 

-  Well,  if  you  were  in  my  place  what 
would  you  do? 

-  In  your  place  I  would  consult  myself. 

-  But   it  is    exactly  because  I  consult 
myself  that... 


20  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  Before  saying  no,  I  would  sometimes 
see  d'Aubieres...  I  would  reflect... 

—  Oh,   you  think  that  to  see  him  often 
might   change  my   opinion?     I   think   the 
contrary. 

—  Aubieres  is  a  man  of  wit.     He  is  good, 
well  bred...  he  can  only  gain  by  acquaint- 
ance. . .  without  being  rich  he  has  a  comfort- 
able income,  and  a  historical  name. 

-  Oh,  I  know  that  his  name  is  historical ! 
They  have  repeated  often  enough   in  my 
presence  that  it  is.     They  have  puffed  it 
enough !     But  I  too  have  a  historical  name ! 
You  know,  one  does  not  swallow  easily  the 
things  that  one  has...  it  is  the  things  which 
one     has     not     that    one    would    like    to 
have! 

-  What  would  you  like  to  have  ? 

She  reflected  a  moment ;  then  resolutely 
said: 

—  A  great  deal  of  love...  or  if  that  is  too 
hard,  a  great  deal,  a  great  deal  of  money ! 
There  would  not  be  a  single  poor  person  at 
Pont-sur-Sarthe.    You'd  see !    Then  I  would 
buy  pictures  and  horses...  and  I  would  go 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  21 

to  the  concert  every  night.     Oh,  you  would 
not  be  bothered  in  my  house. 

—  ' '  Bothered !  '      If  your  mother  heard 
you! 

—  Yes,  but  she  does  not  hear  me ! 
A  servant  opened  the  door : 

-  Madame  would  like  to  speak  before 
dinner  to  Monsieur  le  Marquis  and  to  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte.  She  also  tells  Mademoi- 
selle to  dress. 

—  Dress? —  exclaimed  Coryse  astonished 
— then  there  is  company? 

Turning  laughingly  toward  her  stepfather 
and  her  uncle,  she  said : 

— It  must  be  M.  d'Aubieres  —  and  you 
are  to  get  indications  how  to  make  me 
shine.  Go !  I  am  going  to  put  on  my  old 
pink  gown.  It  is  not  as  pretty  and  it  is 
dirtier  than  this  one,  but  it  is  evening  dress. 

She  looked  at  M.  de  Bray — who  was  go- 
ing out,  followed  by  his  brother — and  mut- 
tered, with  tears  in  her  eyes  : 

—  Anyhow,  it  is  just  my  luck  that  the 
only  two  beings  who  love  me  are  nothing  at 
all  to  me ! 


22  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

And  as  her  stepfather  turned  to  answer, 
she  added  quickly : 

-  The  only  two  beings  is  not  right !  I 
had  forgotten  Uncle  Albert  and  Aunt  Ma- 
thilde,  who  love  me  so  much  and  who  are 
really  something  to  me. 

Suddenly,  an  idea  ran  through  her  head, 
she  plunged  under  the  arm  of  M.  de  Bray 
which  held  the  knob  of;  the  door,  and 
shouted  at  him  laughingly : 

—  I  am  to  dine  with  them  to-night. . . 
She  swelled   her  voice,  continuing  with 

emphasis : 

—  Please  tell  my  mother,  if  she  has  for- 
gotten. 

And  she  disappeared  in  the  stairway. 


II. 


Darling  had  leaped  to  her  room,  planted 
crosswise  a  hat  on  her  blonde  hair,  and, 
entering  like  a  bomb  into  the  servants' 
room,  had  taken  hold  of  old  Jean,  who  was 
putting  on  cotton  gloves  which  were  too 
narrow  for  his  big  hands. 

—  Quickly,  come,  accompany  me  to  Aunt 
Mathilde's. 

-  But  Mademoiselle,  you  cannot  think 
of  it !  There  is  company  at  dinner.  I 
have  to  go  to  the  door,  and  they  are 
coming. 

—  You  have  lots  of  time,  we'll  run. 

—  Oh,  we  are  going  to  run  —  murmured 
the  old   coachman  —  in  such  weather. . .  it 
won't  be  amusing. 


24  A    GALLIC    GIEL. 

He  finished  putting  on  Ms  gloves,  push- 
ing in  his  fingers  widely  separated  from 
one  another,  with  an  awkward  and  regular 
movement.  Coryse  took  his  arm  and 
said : 

-  Come,  hurry,  or  we'll  be  caught ! 
The  good  man  stopped,  his  fingers  sepa- 
rated like  rays,  and  asked : 

-  Caught?     Then    you    have  not    your 
mother's  permission? 

-  I  have  it  without  having  it...  come. 

-  I  bet  that  it  is   not  true...  that  you 
haven't  it. 

-  Yes...  I  have  it...  from  papa. 

-  It  is  just  as  if  you  hadn't  it  at  all. 
The  permissions  which  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
gives  are  like  his  orders...  one  might  say 
that  they  are  nothing. 

In  going  through  the  dining-room  she 
stopped  in  surprise. 

— Hello — she  said  looking  at  the  table... 
there  are  several  persons  at  dinner.  I 
thought  there  would  be  only  M.  d' Aubieres. . . 
"Well,  where  are  you  going? 

—  To  take  my  cap  which  is  in  the  stable. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  25 

He  rejoined  Coryse,  who  was  already 
walking  in  rapid  strides,  and  walked  a  few 
steps  behind  her.  Suddenly  she  turned 
and  asked : 

—  You  know  M.   d'Aubieres...  what  do 
you  think  of  him? 

—  I  think  he  is  a  beautiful  colonel. 

—  Oh,  my  poor  Jean,  they  want  me  to 
marry  him ! 

—  Oh!—-   exclaimed    the   old   coachman 
with   an   astonishment  so  comical  that  the 
girl   laughed  —  oh,  it's   not   possible...  he 
might  be  your  father ! 

-  That  does  not  matter. . .  they  want  me 
to   marry   him  anyway.     It's    Madame   la 
Marquise  who  wants  me  to... 

-  Oh —  said  the  good  man  who  knew  the 
tastes  of  his  mistress  —  he  has  a  great  name, 
Monsieur  le  Due  d'Aubieres. 

-Come  here,  next  to  me —  commanded 
Coryse  whom  it  annoyed  to  turn  her  head 
while  walking. —  You  are  giving  me  a  stiff 
neck! 

-I  can't  walk  next  to  you...  Madame 
la  Marquise  has  given  positive  orders.  ' '  In 


26  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


the  street,  walk  five  steps  behind  Mademoi- 
selle," is  what  she  said. 

—  To   others,    but    not  to    you   who   is 
almost  my  nurse.     There   cannot   be   any 
etiquette  for  you. 

Jean  looked  at  the  old  granite  house 
which,  in  front  of  them,  raised  on  the 
square  its  heavy  gray  silhouette,  and  mur- 
mured with  a  big  sigh : 

—  There  is  a  good  house,  with  good  mas- 
ters !  Monsieur  le  Marquis  is  always  good... 
but  he  does  not  often  do  what  he  wants  to 
do...    whereas   Monsieur    and   Madame  de 
Launay  do  what  each  other  wants. 

—  You  are  sorry,  aren't  you,    that   you 
quitted  them  ? 

-  I  don't  regret,  since  I  quitted  them  to 
be  with  you...  but  when  you  are  married  to 
the  Due  d'Aubieres  or  to  another,  I  won't 
stay  long. 

And,  as  Darling  made  no  answer, 

-  I  am  wrong  to   complain  to  you. . .  in 
the  first  place  because  she  is  your  mother, 
and  then  because  you  are  more  to  be  pitied 
than  me.    I  can  go  if  I  want  to,  and  you  can't. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  27 

And,  after  a  silence,  the  good  man  pursu- 
ing his  little  idea,  asked : 

-  Do  you  think  that  M.   and  Mme.   de 
Launay  would  want  me  again  ?    They  know 
very  well  that  I  quitted  them  to  be  with 
you,  Mile.   Coryse,   and  they  find,  since  I 
am  not  their  coachman,  that  their  horses 
are   not  as  beautiful,    nor   as   fat,    nor   as 
brilliant. 

—  You  know  very  well  that  you  are  to 
stay  with  me  always,  Jean,  and  that  I  will 
take  you  with  me  when  I  go. 

She  had  lifted  the  knocker  of  the  porte- 
cochere.  With  his  eyes  full  of  tears  the 
coachman  bent  toward  her  and  said : 

-  Would  ,you  really  want  in  your  service 
an  old  man  like  me  who  is  not  handsome 
nor  stylish? 

-  Yes,  you  please  me  as  you  are.     And 
yet  it's  true  you  are  not  pretty... 

Letting  the  knocker  fall,  she  exclaimed : 
-Anyhow,  run  as  quick  as  you  can. 
You  have  not  a  moment  to  lose. 

And,  laughing,  without  caring  for  the 
terrified  air  of  the  poor  man  : 


28  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  You  may  not  get  a  welcome  reception 
at  the  house,  you  know ! 

Barling's  entrance  in  the  dining-room  of 
the  Launays,  wTho  had  just  taken  their 
places  at  table,  was  a  veritable  event.  Aunt 
Mathilde  and  Uncle  Albert  got  up  with  ex- 
clamations of  pleasure,  and  the  servant  per- 
mitted himself  to  express  a  satisfied  groan. 

Everybody  adored  Darling  in  the  old 
house  where  her  first  childhood  had  been 
spent,  and  where  she  returned  always  with 

joy- 
She  wTas  ten  years  old  when  her  mother 
took  her  from  these  two  old  people  who  had 
been  accustomed  to  regard  her  as  their 
child.  It  was  for  them  a  painful  occasion. 
It  was  terrible  for  the  little  girl  whom  the 
future  frightened.  Scolded  by  her  mother 
since  the  earliest  age  that  she  could  remem- 
ber ;  fondled  by  the  old  uncle  and  the  old 
aunt  as  soon  as  she  had  known  them ;  then 
shaken  between  caresses  and  in  juries  during 
the  visits  of  Madame  d'Avesnes  at  Pont- 
sur-Sarthe,  Coryse,  profoundly  gay  by  tem- 
perament but  sad  by  reflection,  lived  in 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  29 

perpetual  anxiety.  When  she  was  very 
small,  seated  in  a  little  armchair  under  the 
fixed  looks  of  portraits  in  armor,  between 
the  two  old  people  who  never  let  her  little 
curly  head  get  out  of  their  sight,  already  the 
child  reflected. 

She  reflected  that  it  was  good  to  live  and 
to  laugh ;  to  roll  on  the  carpet  of  the  large 
parlor  or  on  the  lawn  of  the  sad  garden, 
which  seemed  to  her  to  be  full  of  sun  and 
of  joy.  She  thought  that  it  was  amusing 
to  talk  with  the  dogs  and  the  horses,  paint- 
ings and  flowers.  But  all  this  was  not  to 
last.  One  day,  to-morrow  perhaps,  she 
would  hear  at  night  the  big  door  of  the 
vault  open;  a  big  carriage,  the  noise  of 
which  she  knew  so  well,  would  enter  and 
Uncle  Albert,  bending  over  his  tall  body, 
would  say  while  kissing  her,  with  a  little 
embarrassment : 

-  My  darling,  it  is  your  little  mother 
who  has  come...  you  must  go  to  meet  her 
with  Claudine. 

She  no  longer  heard,  in  advance,  of  the 
coming  of  Madame  d'Avesnes.  Her  uncle 


30  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

and  aunt  had  observed  that  as  soon  as  she 
was  warned  of  her  coming  she  ceased  to 
sleep  and  to  eat.  She  also  cried  continu- 
ally, but  she  put  on  a  good  appearance  at 
the  last  moment,  resigned  to  her  obe- 
dience when  it  became  absolutely  neces- 
sary. 

And  obediently  she  would  take  in  her 
little  hand  a  corner  of  Claudine's  apron 
and  go  down  stairs  resolutely,  her  eyes 
dry,  while  the  nurse  would  say  to  her  with 
her  big,  encouraging  voice : 

-  Well  now,  poor  Darling. . .  you  must  be 
brave ! 

Then  she  replied  in  a  frightened  voice : 

-  You   take    care    and    call  me   Made- 
moiselle...   you    know   very  well  that   she 
wants  you  to. 

Certainly,  the  scenes  and  the  yells  which 
rained  on  her  irritated  Coryse,  but  they 
irritated  her  less  than  the  scenes  and  the 
yells  which  were  destined  for  others. 

The  sight  of  Aunt  Mathilde  crying  softly 
in  her  room,  or  of  a  servant  pale  and  carry- 
ing his  boxes  in  the  stairway,  troubled  her 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  31 

to  the  point  of  making  her  remain  all  night 
with  eyes  wide  open  in  her  little  bed. 

And  it  was  all  this  that  the  big  carriage 
announced,  the  roll  of  which  she  always 
seemed  to  hear,  even  when  she  played. 
And  always,  for  years,  Darling  had  lived 
laughing,  but  preoccupied;  unable  to  for- 
get in  the  course  of  eight  or  ten  tranquil 
months,  the  few  bad  days  which  had  passed 
and  which  were  to  come,  bending  in  ad- 
vance her  little  supple  back  in  the  expecta- 
tion of  some  frightful  shock  which  she  fore- 
saw. 

The  announcement  of  her  mother's  mar- 
riage, which  in  itself  was  indifferent  to  her, 
terrified  her  when  she  knew  that  she  was 
to  quit  the  old  house  where  she  had  grown, 
and  the  old  parents  who  had  raised  her. 
She  knew  by  sight  the  Marquis  de  Bray, 
whom  she  often  saw  on  horseback  with  his 
brother  Marc,  and  she  thought  that  he  had 
the  air  of  being  good.  But  when  she  saw 
that  he  married  her  mother,  she  concluded 
that  he  resembled  her. 

Quite  mistress  of  herself  when  she  thought 


32  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

that  she  should  be,  she  did  not  let  her  fears 
appear,  and  contented  herself  with  silently 
protesting.  To  Madame  d' Avesnes,  who  an- 
nounced to  her  with  big  phrases  that  it  was 
for  maternal  love  and  interest  in  her  future 
that  she  married  again,  she  replied  not  a 
word.  And  when  they  came  to  introduce 
her  to  M.  de  Bray,  she  went  to  hide  in  the 
garden  in  a  ball  of  hortensias  where  she  could 
not  be  discovered. 

Pale,  with  harsh  eyes,  she  assisted  in  the 
sad  cathedral  at  the  marriage  of  her  mother, 
understanding  vaguely  that  there  disap- 
peared the  last  reminiscence  of  the  poor 
father  whom  she  had  not  known,  and  who 
perhaps  would  have  loved  her.  And  it  was 
with  a  desolate  heart  that  she  went  into  the 
new  house. 

At  once,  M.  de  Bray  loved  Darling ;  but 
guessing  the  thoughts  that  occurred  in  her, 
he  did  not  try  to  hasten  the  instant  which 
was  to  bring  them  together.  The  untama- 
ble character  of  his  wife  led  to  their  friend- 
ship. 

Frightened  by  the   noise,  the   tears  and 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  33 

the  grand  gestures  of  the  Marquise,  these 
two  joyful  and  good  beings  tried  instinct- 
ively to  find  in  each  other  a  support.  They 
multiplied,  without  even  realizing  the  fact, 
occasions  to  meet  each  other ;  and  Darling, 
without  confessing  it  to  herself,  finished  by 
never  being  joyful  and  reassured  except 
when  her  stepfather  was  present. 

Always  the  child  had  applied  herself  to 
conceal  the  terror  in  which  her  mother  held 
her.  She  stood  up  at  the  noise  of  her  cries, 
affected  an  irritating  calmness  and  lifted 
her  nose  impertinently,  although  she  felt  her 
teeth  chattering  and  her  little  legs  trembling. 

But  one  night  she  betrayed  herself. 
Pursued  in  the  corridor  by  Madame  de 
Bray,  she  jumped  over  the  bannister  and 
ran  into  the  library.  There,  thinking  that 
she  was  alone,  she  leaned  on  the  door  lis- 
tening for  her  mother. 

Marc  de  Bray,  who  lived  with  his  brother, 
was  smoking  in  a  large  armchair  far  from 
the  lamp.  He  called  the  little  girl  softly. 
She  turned,  sorry  to  have  been  surprised  in 
a  moment  of  weakness. 


34  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


-  Oh  —  she  said  sorrowfully  —  you  are 
there? 

Marc  answered : 

—  Yes,   Mademoiselle,   I  am  here — do  I 
annoy  you? 

Darling    never    told    an    untruth.      She 
went  to  him  and  said  : 

—  Yes,  you  saw  me  afraid,  and  I  don't 
like  people  to  see  me  thus ! 

He   laughed    and    looked    at    the   child 
affectionately : 

—  You  are,  really  a  gentle  Darling !     If 
you  were  afraid  of  a  ghost  or  of  a  gun  I 
would  say  that  it  is  very  ugly  for  a  descen- 
dant of  the  Avesnes...  but  of  your  mother! 
Oh,  my  poor  little  girl...  I  am  very  much 
afraid  of  her,  I  an  old  man  with  a  beard. 

—  Oh  —  murmured  Coryse  —  you  too?... 
you  don't  look  as  if  you  were  afraid. 

—I  do  not  look  like  it  when  she  is 
there...  it  would  give  her  too  much  pleas- 
ure... but  when  she  is  not  here  I  make  up 
for  it  and  tremble  all  I  can  !  It's  true!... 
This  morning  at  breakfast  when  she  went 
for  poor  Joseph  I  wanted  to  say  nothing, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  35 

constrain  myself,  and  my  throat  contracted 
itself  on  a  prune.     I  had  to  run  away  and 
strangle  peacefully  in  the  vestibule. 
Then,  become  serious : 

—  You  see,  Darling,   you  never  tell  my 
brother  anything  about  yourself. 

—  Oh — said  Coryse. 

—  Ye&,    you   ought  to   tell   my  brother 
frankly   when   you  are  sad  and  when  you 
are  afraid. 

She  replied,  indifferent  and  discouraged : 

—  What  could  he  do? 

—  Well,  he  is  the  master,  after  all ! 
Darling's  eyes  opened  widely  : 

-  He?     It  isn't  possible ! 
Marc  de  Bray  laughed : 

-  I   know   very  well   that  it  isn't  very 
apparent !     Your  stepfather  has  a  horror  of 
discussions    and     of     scenes.     He    prefers 
always  to  yield... 

-  Then,  what? 

-  Well,  he   does  not  care  for   himself, 
but  as  for  you  it  is  another  matter.     He 
liked  your  father,  whose  friend  he  was,  and 
he  likes  you  a  great  deal. 


36  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

Seeing  that  she  made  a  motion  of  doubt, 
he  said: 

-  A  great  deal.     So  do  I  like  you,  and 
if  we  have  never  spoken  to  you  of  our  affec- 
tion, the  reason  is  that  it  is  not  easy  to 
come  near  a  little  porcupine  who  turns  her- 
self into  a  ball  as  soon  as  she  sees  people 
whom  she  does  not  want  to  see... 

And  as  his  brother  entered,  he  said : 

-  Pierre,  tell   Darling   that  we  are  her 
friends,  and  I  think  that  to-night  she  will 
believe  you. 

From  that  day  an  immense  affection  had 
been  born  in  the  little  closed  heart  of 
the  child,  and  she  had  lived  more  peace- 
fully. 

-  How  is  it  that  you  came  to-night,  my 
darling?--  asked     her    good     uncle.  --I 
thought  that  you  had  company  at  dinner. 

She  winked  oddly : 

-  M.  d'Aubieres,  eh?  —  she  said,  jump- 
ing with  both  feet  into  the  question. 

And  at  once,  without  giving  time  for  a 
reply : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  37 


-  If  you  were  in  my  place  would  you 
marry  him? 

—  But — Darling !  -  -  murmured  timidly 
Aunt  Mathilde,  indicating  with  her  look 
the  presence  of  the  servant. 

-  Pshaw !     What   does   it   matter?     M. 
d'  Aubieres  asked  for  my  hand  in  marriage 
I  suppose  at  four,  I  heard  of  it  at  five ;  to- 
night one  portion  of  the  city  will  know  all 
about  it,  and  to-morrow  mother  will  tell  the 
rest.     It  looks  big  when  you  say  it,  Pont- 
sur-Sarthe,     80,000     inhabitants,     but     it 
doesn't  prevent  a  bit  of  gossip  to  go  around 
it  in  an  instant...  you  know  yourself  that 
M.  d'Aubieres  wants  to  marry  me. 

-  But  —  said  M.  de  Launay  —  we  know 
it  by  your  mother,  who  came  to  tell  us  and 
to  invite  us  to  dine  with  her  to-night. 

-  Oh,  precisely...  he  is  to  be  introduced 
to  the   family...  I  am   to  be  forced  to  say 
yes. 

Aunt  Mathilde  protested : 

-  But  they  need  not  introduce  him...  we 
have  known  him  since  he  has  been  in  the 
garrison  here...  and  that  is  a  long  time. 


38  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  It  was  a  year  ago !    The  first  time  that 
Uncle  Marc  brought  him  to  dinner  he  sat 
next  to  me.    I  wore  short  dresses  then.    He 
talked  to  me  all  the  time  of  rallye-papers 
and  hunting. . .  What   a  sleepy  dinner  that 
was  for  me ! 

-  Darling  —  said  Mme.  de  Launay  in  a 
tone  of  reproach  —  why  do  you  talk  thus. 

She  looked  surprised:  —  Oh,  Aunt  Ma- 
thilde,  are  you  so  correct  as  all  that? 

-  You  are   not  precise  enough.      Your 
mother  is   right  in   saying   that  you  have 
manners  of  a  boy,  and  talk  like  the  chil- 
dren of  the  street. . . 

—  "Well,  they  were  the  only  ones  whom 
it  amused  me  to  listen  to  when  I  was  a  little 
girl.     You  understand... 

-  Yes,    yes,    I  understand,  but   do  not 
talk  so  much,  and  eat  your  beef  which  will 
be  cold. 

-  It   will  be  good,  anyway.     There's  a 
thing  that  we  never  eat  at  the  house. 

—  Your  mother  does  not  like  it,  I  think. 

—  It  isn't  that  she  does  not  like  it...  but 
she  says  that  it  is  a  commonplace  dish... 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  39 

and  everything  that  is  commonplace,  let  it 
be  a  dish  or  anything  else. . . 

-  Yes...  all  right...  eat! 

-  Meanwhile,  you  have  not  told  me  what 
to  do. 

—  To  do  what? 

-  Well,  with  M.  d'Aubieres... 

-  But  my  dear  child —  said  Uncle  Albert 
-  in  such  cases  you  can  take  advice  from 

nobody  but  yourself.  M.  d'Aubieres  suits 
your  mother...  it  is  your  own  concern  to 
know  if  he  pleases  you. 

—  He  pleases  me...  he  pleases  me...  cer- 
tainly. . .  until  now. . .  but  I  never  looked  at 
him   from  this   point  of   view,  and  I  think 
that  if  I  looked  at  him  in  that  way. . . 

Aunt  Mathilde  insisted : 

-  You   must   see   him   again...  see   him 
often. . .  it  is   easy  for  you,  since   he  comes 
often  at  your  house...  then  you  will  study 
him...  and   when   you   shall    have   studied 
him... 

-  What  shall  I  do  then? 

-  Then  you  will  know  what  you  are  to 
answer. . . 


40  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-Then  I  will  answer,  "Zut!  "... 

-  Zut? 
Darling  laughed. 

-  Oh,  how  odd  it  is,  Aunt  Mathilde,  to 
hear  you  say  Zut. . .  You  don't  put  any  in- 
tention in  it. 

-  No  intention? 

-  No  ! . . .  Zut !  !  !  is  a  word  which  means, 
"go  and   chase    yourself!  "  or   something 
like  that.     So  you  have  to  hurl  it  more  de- 
liberately, you  understand? 

-  You  can  think  that  at  my  age  I  am 
not  going  to  learn  how  to  say  Zut... 

-  You  could  say  it  pretty  well !    Ordi- 
narily you  are  not  at  all  prudish,  Aunt  Ma- 
thilde, and  sometimes  use  expressions  that 
are  quite  worth  Zut. 

- 1  am  wrong  in  doing  it. 
-  Never !  It  is  in  those  moments  that  I 
love  you  the  most,  and  what  pleases  me  in 
M.  d'Aubieres  is  that  he  never  poses,  and  I 
am  sure  that  my  manner  of  talking  never 
shocks  him. 

—  And —  asked   M.  de  Launay--what 
is,  on  the  subject  of  this  marriage,  the  opin- 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  41 

ion  of  your  father  and  of  your  uncle? 
-Father  does  not  say  much.  He  con- 
tents himself  with  praising  M.  d'  Aubieres. 
Uncle  Marc  tells  me  to  consult  myself.  I 
heard  them  talking,  however,  when  they 
thought  that  I  was  not  listening,  because  I 
was  crying  in  a  corner. 

In  unison  the  two  old  people  asked  anx- 
iously : 

-  You  were  crying? 

-  Put  yourselves   in   my  place.     If  you 
think  it  is  funny !    Anyway  it  was  not  for 
that,  that  I  was  crying  -    -  it  was  for  some- 
thing else.     While  they  thought  I  was  not 
listening,  they  enumerated  the  people  who 
adore    each    other  in    spite   of    twenty  or 
twenty-five    years   of    difference    in    their 
ages  - 

-  Did  they  speak  of  us? 
-No. 

-  Well,  Darling,  I  was   eighty-one  yes- 
terday,   and   your   aunt   was  only   sixty... 

-  All   the  same,  you   seem  to  me  to  be 
very  well  as  you  are  —  said  Darling,  who 
took  her  uncle's  arm  to  go  into  the  parlor. 


42  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  I  asked  for   the  carriage  at  half-past 
eight  —  said  Mme.  de  Launay  -  -  I  will  get 
ready. 

-  The  carriage?     In  this  weather?    For 
three  hundred  yards? 

And,  illuminated : 

-  It  is  not  one  of  your  ideas.     I  would 
bet  that  it  wasn't  your  idea. 

-  In  fact  it  was  your  mother  who  - 

-  Told  you  to  come  in  a  carriage. . .  be- 
cause you  have  handsome  horses  and  be- 
cause, as  everybody  goes  out  at  the  same 
time,  everybody  sees  them.     It  is  to  dazzle 
M.   d'Aubieres...  Oh,   la,   la!     Always   her 
airs  and  her  style ! 

While  the  Launays  were  preparing  to  go 
out,  Darling,  seated  in  an  armchair,  looked 
affectionately  at  the  wide  parlor  where  she 
had  formerly  played  so  much.  She  liked 
the  old  Empire  furniture  with  copper  sphinx 
and  Utrecht  velvet  in  yellow  stripes;  the 
little  cabinets  concealed  in  the  white  wood- 
work, wherein  she  kept  her  playthings; 
and  the  beautiful  Louis  XVI.  wainscoting, 
so  intact  and  so  pleasant,  with  the  satyrs 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  43 

and  the  nymphs  playing  in  the  woods, 
whom  Claudine,  her  nurse,  defined  thus : 
"  Men  and  women  tickling  one  another  on 
a  wall ;  "  and  the  old  clock  with  its  eagles; 
and  the  vases  of  Sevres,  lonesome  and 
charming. 

There,  Darling  lived  again  the  good  hours 
of  her  earlier  childhood,  and  it  was  with  a 
tone  of  conviction  that  she  said  to  her  old 
friends  when  they  called  her : 

—  Oh,  it  is  good  to  be  here  ! 

When  she  arrived  at  the  Bray  mansion, 
she  climbed  in  haste  the  stairway,  before 
her  uncle  and  aunt,  shouting  at  them  : 

-  You  will  say  that  I  am  coming !  I 
have  to  dress !  I'll  be  blown  up  if  I  go  in 
as  I  am !  I  am  going  to  introduce  myself 
into  my  old  pink  gown  ! 


Ill 


When  she  entered  the  well-lighted  parlor, 
Coryse  stopped,  examining  under  her  half 
shut  eyelids,  in  a  gesture  familiar  to  short- 
sighted people,  the  visitors,  who  were  talk- 
ing, seated  in  a  large  circle.  She  hesitated 
an  instant,  asking  herself  whom  she  should 
first  salute.  Then  she  walked  toward  an 
old,  silent  woman,  with  fine  effaced  profile, 
and  bent  her  body  in  a  movement  which 
was  certainly  very  respectful  when  one  con- 
siders her  habitual  attitude. 

The  Comtesse  de  Jarville  was  agreeable  to 
Coryse  for  several  reasons.  She  found  in 
her  a  grand  air  in  spite  of  her  modest  atti- 
tude, and  believed  that  she  was  intelligent 
and  good.  Then,  Mme.  de  Bray  hated  this 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  45 

old  woman,  a  distant  relative  of  her  hus- 
band, who  saddened  her  drawing-room  with 
her  faded  gowns  and  her  aspect  of  an  old 
pale  portrait.  This  hatred  alone  would 
have  sufficed  to  make  her  sympathetic  to 
Darling. 

-  Corysande —  said  the  marquise  briefly 
-  come   and   say  good-night   to  Mme.    de 

Bassigny ! 

Mme.  de  Bassigny  was  the  wife  of  a 
colonel,  and  Darling's  bete  noire.  A 
woman  very  wealthy  and  ever  posing,  who 
found  pleasure  in  vexing  and  humiliating 
all  the  military  families  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe, 
and  in  causing  to  be  punished  the  bachelor 
officers  who  neglected  her  receptions. 

The  girl  turned  round  and  replied  with 
an  indifference  almost  impertinent : 

-  In   a    moment...    when   I   shall    have 
bowed  to  Mme.  de  Jarville. . . 

The  marquise  glanced  at  her  daughter 
furiously,  while  M.  d'Aubieres  rested  on 
the  child  his  good  blue  eyes  filled  with  ad- 
miration and  contentment. 

He,  too,  detested  the  wife  of  his  colleague, 


46  A    GALLIC    GIKL. 

and  he  was  charmed  by  the  lack  of  defer- 
ence expressed  so  deliberately. 

That  thin  woman — who  had,  he  said,  bird 
bills  at  her  elbows  and  a  fishbone  in  the 
back  —  bad  as  the  itch,  talkative  as  a  poll 
parrot  and  gossipy  as  a  janitor ;  who  calum- 
niated the  pretty  women  and  made  fun  of 
those  who  were  poor  and  homely,  was  held 
by  him  in  horror.  Too  frank  to  conceal  his 
repulsion,  M.  d'Aubieres  had  been  with  her 
simply  polite. 

Mme.  de  Bassigny,  desirous  of  attracting 
to  her  receptions  this  bachelor  who  wore  a 
great  name,  had  been  at  first  infinitely  amia- 
ble. She  tried  to  have  the  most  elegant 
and  the  best  frequented  drawing-room  of 
Pont-sur-Sarthe,  and  she  understood  at 
once  that  the  presence  of  the  Due  d'Au- 
bieres  was  indispensable  for  that  drawing- 
room's  supremacy.  A  duke  is  a  sort  of 
personage  in  almost  all  circles,  but  in  a 
provincial  town  he  is  a  great  personage. 

At  the  arrival  of  Col.  d'Aubieres  people 
said,  ' '  He  is  probably  a  duke  created  by 
the  Empire,"  and  he  was  regarded  with 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  47 

curiosity.  But  when  people  learned  that 
the  title  of  d'Aubieres  dated  from  the  time 
before  the  revision  of  1667,  curiosity  was 
transformed  into  admiration.  And  as,  with 
his  little  fortune,  the  Due  d'Aubieres  made 
a  good  enough  appearance ;  as  he  had  hand- 
some horses,  a  well-kept  phaeton  and  a 
little  house  for  himself  full  of  bric-a-brac, 
in  the  new  district  near  the  railway  station, 
he  became  the  target  of  mothers,  of  widows, 
and  of  women  of  the  half -world  of  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe. 

However,  in  spite  of  all  the  amiabilities 
of  Col.  and  Mme.  de  Bassigny,  he  remained 
ceremonious  and  reserved,  contenting  him- 
self with  being  polite  and  nothing  more. 

More  fortunate  than  her  friend,  Mme.  de 
Bray  had  the  joy  to  present  the  Due  d'Au- 
bieres at  one  of  her  receptions.  He  was  an 
intimate  friend  of  her  brother-in-law,  Marc, 
who  presented  him. 

And  whereas  all  the  prettiest  women  - 
including   Mme.  de  Bray  -  -  paid   court   to 
him,  the  Duke  saw  only  the  little  girl,  lithe 
and     strong,    dreamy    and    playful,     who 


48  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

laughed  with  him,  confident,  affectionate, 
paying  not  the  slightest  attention  to  the 
stylish  young  men  who  ornamented  her 
mother's  parlor.  He  divined  a  portion  of 
the  little  miseries  that  troubled  the  life  of 
Darling,  and  learned  of  the  rest  from  Uncle 
Marc.  Unconsciously,  he  fell  softly,  at  43 
years  of  age,  in  love  with  this  child  of  fif- 
teen, who  laughed  at  him  with  all  her  teeth. 

When  M.  d'Aubieres  realized  what  was 
happening  in  his  heart,  he  thought :  "  I  am 
crazy." 

Then  by  dint  of  dreaming  of  this  mar- 
riage, which  at  first  had  seemed  to  him  im- 
possible, he  said  to  himself :  " Why  not?" 

But  Darling  obstinately  avoided  looking 
at  him.  After  summarily  saluting  Mme. 
de  Bassigny,  she  talked  with  a  little  young 
man,  the  Vicomte  de  Barfleur,  a  descendant 
of  the  most  ancient  family  of  the  country. 
And,  although  this  conversation  seemed, 
from  Coryse's  air,  to  be  totally  destitute  of 
interest,  M.  d'Aubieres,  impatient  at  seeing 
her  preoccupied  by  somebody,  began  to 
hate  the  innocent  dude. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  49 

Suddenly,  a  tall  young  girl,  very  beauti- 
ful, Genevieve  de  Lussy,  a  cousin  of  the 
Avesnes,  exclaimed : 

-  Darling  !     Why  did  you  not  come  to 
the  lecture? 

-  What?  —  asked  Mme.   de  Bray,   stu- 
pefied. — What?     She    did   not  go   to   the 
lecture  ? 

Coryse  blushed,  abandoned  little  Barfleur 
and  went  to  her  mother  saying : 

-  No,  I  did  not  go  to  the  lecture,  I  re- 
mained in  the  garden. 

She  turned  toward  M.  de  Bray  and 
added : 

-  The  weather  was  so  fine ! 

-  And  where  did  you  go? 
She  replied : 

—I  have  just  told  you. . .  I  stayed  in  the 
garden. 

-  Doing  nothing ! 
—  ]STo... 

-  What  did  you  do? 

-  I  looked  at  the  flowers. 

-  That's  what  I  said ! 

And,     with     an    important    air,     as    if 


50  A    GALLIC    G1KL. 

she    had    to    superintend    her    daughter's 
studies : 

-  What  was  the  subject  of  the  lecture, 
Genevieve? 

-  The    lecture  ?  —  said    the   young  girl 
who  tried  for  a  moment  to  remember  -  -  We 
studied     the     reproduction...  and,    in    the 
midst  of  an  astonished  silence,  she  said : 

-  The    reproduction    of     Phanerogamic 
plants. 

Uncle  Marc  shrugged  his  shoulders,  mut- 
tering in  a  low  voice  : 

-  Darling  is  right  to  study  flowers  in  the 
garden.     There  is  no  harm  in  that ! 

As  for  the  marquise,  who  was  totally 
ignorant  of  plants,  phanerogamic  and  other- 
wise, and  who  had  not  understood  a  single 
word,  she  said  in  a  protective  tone  : 

-  You  understand,  Coryse? 

The  girl  made  no  reply.     Genevieve  said  : 
—  Tuesday,  it  will  be  "  Britannicus. " 

-  I  will  go  —  exclaimed  Darling  —  I  like 
Racine  so  much ! 

Little  Barfleur  knew  that  a  man  in  society 
must  always  place  a  word  in  every  conver- 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  51 

sation,  on  any  subject.     He  asked  with  an 
indifferent  air : 

-  Why  do   you   like   Racine   so   much, 
Mademoiselle? 

-  I  don't  know — said  Darling,  indiffer- 
ently. 

Then,  after  a  moment  of  reflection,  she 
declared : 

-  Perhaps  because  they  tried  to  make  me 
like  Corneille... 

Marc  de  Bray  laughed ;  his  sister-in-law 
furiously  turned  towards  him  : 

—  One  would  think  that  you  were  trying 
to  make  her  still  more  unbearable  and  ridi- 
culous ! 

-  Me !  —  said  Uncle  Marc,  astounded. 

-  Yes,   you  !     You  laugh  at  everything 
she  says.     You  look  as  if  you  thought  her 
funny ! 

She  would  have  continued,  raising  her 
voice  in  the  silence.  Impatiently,  Darling, 
with  brilliant  eyes  and  her  nose  in  the  air, 
as  in  her  battle  days,  proposed  : 

-  Supposing  you  talk  as  you  were  talk- 
ing before,  without  troubling  about  me? 


52  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

One  of  the  doors  of  the  parlor  opened  on 
the  garden.  Without  waiting  to  judge  of 
the  effect  produced  by  her  proposition,  she 
went  out  and  down  the  stoop,  where  Gri- 
bouille  was  waiting  for  her.  Gribouille  was 
an  enormous  dog,  short  and  strong,  good, 
with  a  ferocious  air. 

The  night  was  clear,  without  moonlight, 
one  of  those  nights  full  of  humidity  and 
of  perfumes  that  Coryse  liked.  Followed 
by  Gribouille  she  walked  toward  the  ex- 
treme end  of  the  garden.  The  intense  odor 
of  white  petunias  attracted  her.  And  when 
she  was  near  the  long  basket  which  seemed 
pale  in  the  middle  of  the  dark  lawn, 
she  bent  over  it  with  a  great  desire  to 
roll  on  the  perfumed  flowers.  But  she 
thought : 

-  It  would  hurt  them  ! 

For  Darling,  persuaded  that  flowers  suf- 
fer, touched  them  with  infinite  delicacy. 

The  noise  of  footsteps  in  the  alley  made 
Gribouille  growl ;  and  at  once  she  guessed 
that  it  was  M.  d'Aubieres  who  was  ap- 
proaching in  the  darkness.  He  asked, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  53 


vaguely    discerning    the    clear     spot    that 
Darling's  gown  made  on  the  lawn : 
-  Is  it  you? 
-Yes,  sir. 
In  a  hesitating  voice,  he  said : 

Will  you  permit  me  to  talk  with  you 

an  instant? 

%• 

-  Yes. 

Has...  has  anybody  told  you...  that.  . 

She  pitied  his  embarrassment. 

Yes...   I  know  that  you   have   asked 

to-day  to  marry  me. 
He  murmured, 

—  Well. 

—  Well !  I  did  not  expect  this,  as  you 
may  well  think!...  And...  it  surprises  me  a 
little...  and  even  a  great  deal,  if  you  wish 
me  to  tell  the  truth... 

—  Why. . .  you  have   not  guessed  that  I 
have  loved  you  for  a  long  time? 

She  replied,  sincerely : 

—  Oh,  as  for  that,  no,  certainly! 

—  Yet  it  is  very  true  !...  I  loved  you  ever 
since  I  knew  you. . . 

—  That  is  extravagant !    1  am  quite  cer- 


54  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


tain  that  the  first  day  we  met,  I  could  not 
have   made  an   agreeable  impression  upon 
you.     Oh,  no  ! 
-  The  first  day? 

-  Yes. . .  at  dinner. . .  the  evening  that  I 
sat  by  you...  how  I  must   have  appeared 
silly  to  you !    It  must  be   said   that   you 
bored  me  terribly  with  your  hunting  and 
your  rallye-papers,  and  the  rest. . . 

-  But  -  -  muttered  the  poor  man  in  sur- 
prise -  -  I  did   not   know   what   to   say   to 
you...  and  I... 

-  Be  assured  that  I  am  grateful  to  you 
for  not  talking  to  me   about   the   army... 
You  could  have  done  that ! 

-  How   you    make    fun   of    me ! . . .  You 
think  that  I  am  ridiculous...  annoying? 

She  protested  vivaciously : 

-  Oh,  no,  not  at  all,  never !  And  I  even 
like  you  a  great  deal...  I  am  always  very 
glad  to  see  you... 

Joyously,  he  asked : 

-  Well,  then? 

-  When  I  see  you...  accidentally...  but 
if  it  were  always,  always,  all  the  time... 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  55 

-  Then  you  do  not  want  me? 
Darling  had  the  desire  to  reply  to  this 
clear  question,  clearly,  no !  Thus  at  least, 
all  would  be  finished;  the  subject  would 
never  be  recalled  again.  But  she  divined 
so  much  anxiety  in  the  poor  strangled  voice 
that  questioned  her,  so  much  supplication 
in  the  tall  silhouette  bent  towards  her,  that 
she  did  not  have  the  courage  to  cause  grief 
to  the  friend  who  seemed  to  love  her  so 
much.  Gently  she  replied  : 

-  No...  I  do  not  say  that...  I  am  much 
flattered   by    your   affection...   I   am    very 
grateful...  but  I  am  so  much  a  little  girl... I 
have  thought  so  little  of  serious  things. . .  let 
me  think,  will  you?    Do  not  ask  me  to  say  at 
once  yes  or  no. . .  because  then. . .  I  will  say  no. 

-  I  will  wait  for  your  decision. . .  but  let 
me  plead  my  cause  a  little. 

And  seeing  that  Coryse  was  turning  to- 
ward the  house,  he  made  her  retrace  her 
steps  by  taking  her  arm  softly. 

-  Please,  please  give  me  a  few  minutes 
more...  it  is  your  mother  who  told  me   to 
come  and  meet  you  here. 


56  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


With  conviction,  Darling  exclaimed  : 

—  Oh,  I  knew  it ! 

And  to  herself  she  added : 

-  She  can't  leave  me  alone ! 

With     his    beautiful,    grave    voice,    M. 
d' Aubieres  said : 

-  I  appear  old  to  you...  but  I  offer  to 
you  a  heart  which  is  young,  a  heart  which 
never  belonged  to  anybody... 

-  Oh !   said   Coryse,   with   a   frightened 
air  —  you  haven't  arrived  at  your  age  with- 
out loving  somebody. 

He  replied,  gravely : 

—  Love. . .  what  I  understand  by  love. . . 
never ! 

-  And  what  do  you  understand  by  love? 

-  To  give  my  heart  and  my  life... 

-  Well,  is  not  that  always  what  people 
call  love? 

—Always...  no...  it  depends  —  muttered 
M.  d' Aubieres,  with  embarrassment. 

—  Really  —  said    Darling,   brusquely  — 
I  might  as  well  tell  you  that  I  do  not  be- 
lieve you...  not  at  all ! 

—  You  do  not  believe  me  !    Why? 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  57 


-  Oh,  there's  the  question !  It  is  not 
easy  to  tell  you.  Well,  one  day,  in  the 
spring,  I  had  gone  out  on  horseback,  with 
Uncle  Marc.  We  were  in  the  Crisville  for- 
est, and  I  saw  you  at  a  distance...  with  a 
lady...  I  recognized  you  at  once.  Nobody 

is  as  tall  as   you   are  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe. 

«. 

You  were  walking...  and  a  carriage  was 
following  you...  One  of  the  ridiculous  little 
cabs  of  the  Square  station...  The  lady... 
was  one  of  the  ladies  about  whom  nobody 
ever  speaks...  except  mother  and  Mme.  de 
Bassigny ,  who  call  them  ' '  donzelles, ' '  and 
who  make  great  strides  in  the  streets  or  at 
the  circus  when  they  have  to  pass  by  them. 
You  would  think  that  they  burn  one.  I 
ask  your  pardon  for  saying  this  about  a 
person  whom  you  love. 

-  I  -  -  protested  the  Due,  half  laughing, 
half  despairing. 

-  Or  whom  you  loved,  at  least. . . 
Imperturbably,  Darling  continued: 

-  So  I  said  to  Uncle  Marc  :     "  Hello,  M. 
d'Aubieres...  with  the  lady  about  whom  one 
must  not  speak !  "     Oh,  I  had  forgotten  to 


A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


tell  you...  Paul  de  Lussy,  Genevieve's 
brother,  the  one  who  is  studying  law...  you 
know. . .  he  had  done  a  lot  of  silly  things  on 
account  of  this  lady. . .  and  they  wanted  to 
make  him  enlist  in  the  army.  Then  Georg- 
ette Guibray,  your  General's  daughter,  had 
pointed  her  out  one  day  at  the  park  to 
Genevieve,  had  pointed  out  the  lady...  say- 
ing :  "  You  see,  it's  because  of  this  woman 
that  your  brother  is  doing  a  lot  of  silly 
things. ' '  Genevieve  had  pointed  her  out  to 
me  also,  and  at  breakfast  I  had  asked  for 
explanations  from  papa. . .  Oh,  Lord !  what 
an  affair  ! . . .  I  can  see  the  scene  now. . .  My 
mother  rose,  making  gestures  at  me  with 
her  napkin,  calling  me  i  i  a  shameless  girl !  ' 
I  was  blue. . .  I  did  not  at  all  understand  what 
could  have  been  the  matter!  Then,  after 
breakfast,  papa  took  me  to  the  smoking- 
room,  and  said  that  I  must  never  talk  of 
such  things...  especially  before  mother... 
and  that,  anyway,  one  must  be  ignorant  of 
the  world  of  such  women. . .  which  is  a  world 
all  by  itself...  and  at  night,  the  thing  began 
again  with  mother,  when  I  was  going  to 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  59 

bed  !  ...  It's  one  of  the  finest  scoldings  that 
I  can  remember...  but  perhaps  it  bothers 
you  that  I  tell  you  this? 

-  No...  I  would  only  like  to  explain  to 
you... 

-  Wait  till  I  finish...  So  I  said  to  Uncle 
Marc:     "Here  is  M.  d^Aubieres  with  the 
lady  about  whom  one  must  not  talk,"  and 
he  replied  :     "  You  do  not  know  what  you 
are  saying !     You  are  as  shortsighted  as  a 
mole  and  you  cannot  distinguish  anything 
from   here..."     So    I   offered    him   to   trot 
to  where  you  were...  but  he  wouldn't,  and 
the  first   alley   that   we   found. . .  crac !   he 
pushed  me  in  it  so  that  I  couldn't  look  at 
the  road...  and  that  is  all  for  that  occasion. 

-I  will... 

-  It  isn't  all...  a  month  later,  I  was  with 
old  Jean...  I  saw  you  again  with  the  same 
lady  and  almost  at  the  same  place. . .  Oh,  I 
said  to  myself,  this  time  as  I  am  not  like 
my  mother  and  Mme.  de  Bassigny,  and  not 
afraid  to  get  burned,  I  will  go  near  them... 
and    I   trotted.     "Mademoiselle    Coryse," 
said  Jean  to  me,  ' '  the  road  is  becoming  ter- 


60  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

ribly  thick,  the  horses  will  fall  on  their 
noses  certainly...  I  think  it  would  be  better 
to  return  to  the  road  by  which  we  came..." 
I  didn't  listen  to  him,  you  can  think...  but, 
at  that  moment  you  went  into  the  ridiculous 
cab  on  the  road  to  Crisville.  I  said  to  Jean  : 
' '  I  want  to  see  where  they  are  going,  ' '  and 
he  replied  :  i '  That,  Mademoiselle,  is  one 
of  the  things  which  one  should  not  do !  " 

-  And  afterward? 

—  Afterward,  I  lost  sight  of  you. . .  but  I 
found  you  again  all  the  same...  at  the  Cris- 
ville inn.  Your  cab  was  eating  oats  and 
you  were  at  the  first  story  at  a  window. . . 
with  the  lady...  So  I  thought... 

-  You  thought? 

-  Since  M.  d'Aubieres  is  hiding  in  the 
forest  and  in  inns  with  a  woman  whom  he 
does  not  want  anybody  to  see  him  with,  the 
reason  is  that  he  wants  absolutely  to  see 
her  in  spite  of  everything...  and  if  he  wants 
to  see  her  in  spite  of  everything,  it's  because 
he  loves  her,  as  Paul  de  Lussy  loved  her. . . 
and  even  more...  for  to  run  such  risks,  a 
Colonel,  a  serious  and  aged  man... 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  61 

And  as  the  Duke  made  a  motion : 
—  Yes,  in  comparison  with  Paul,  who  is 
only  22,  you  are  aged,  are  you  not?...  Well, 
to  do  what  in  Paul  was  considered  silly, 
one  must. . . 

-  One   must   feel   terribly   lonesome   at 
Pont-sur-Sarthe...  and  jseek  for  recreation 
in   any  world.     I   cannot   explain   to   you 
what  you  must  not  understand,  but  I  can 
affirm  that  whatever  you  may  have  seen  or 
learned  of  my  stupid  life,  I   am  worthy  of 
loving  you  and   of   being  your  husband... 
Never,   until  the  day  when  I  made  your 
acquaintance  have  I  had  the  idea  to  give 
my  name  and  my  heart  to  anybody,  and  I 
offer  to  you,  in  spite  of  my  ' '  great  age, ' '  a 
love  that  is  very  young  and  very  pure... 

Pressing  the  little  arm  which  he  had  kept 
under  his  own,  he  murmured : 

-  Let  me  hope  a  little,  I  pray  you  ? 

-  If  I  do  not  reply  yes  at  once  —  said 
Coryse  frankly  —  the  reason  is  that  I  wish  to 
marry  only  a  man  that  I  will  love,  or  that  I 
feel  that  I  will  love  more  than  all  the  others. 
I  detest  society.  I  have  a  horror  of  grimaces 


62  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

and  garlands !  I  have  until  now  loved 
really  only  Uncle  and  Aunt  de  Launay, 
papa,  Uncle  Marc,  old  Jean,  my  nurse,  Gri- 
bouille  and  my  flowers.  I  want  to  love  my 
husband,  if  not  with  the  love  that  I  do  not 
know,  at  least  very  tenderly,  very  surely... 
M.  d' Aubieres  had  stopped.  He  took  the 
hands  of  the  child,  and  holding  them  to  his 
lips,  said: 

-  I  would  be  so  horribly  miserable  if  I 
had  to  renounce  the  hope  to  have  you... 

He  drew  her  to  him,  and  she  let  herself 
go,  moved  by  that  voice  which  trembled, 
by  all  that  tenderness  which  she  felt  was  so 
true. 

-  Darling  —  he  murmured,  --  my  little 
Darling ! 

She  leaned  on  his  shoulder,  dreaming, 
asking  herself  if  she  could  not  one  day  love 
this  man  who  loved  her  so  much,  and  who 
seemed  to  be  so  good. 

But  M.  d' Aubieres,  troubled  by  the  con- 
tact of  the  supple  little  body,  which  let 
itself  go,  so  trustfully;  enervated  by  the 
obscurity,  intoxicated  by  the  perfumes 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  63 

which  came  from  the  flowers  at  that  hour 
of  night,  lost  his  head  completely.  With  a 
brutal  movement,  he  embraced  Coryse  with 
his  arms,  covering  with  mad  kisses  her  hair 
and  her  forehead.  The  little  girl  disen- 
gaged herself  violently,  almost  with  horror, 
and  as  the  Duke  returned  to  his  senses, 
murmured  in  desolation  at  what  he  had 
done: 

-  Forgive  me...  I  love  you  so  much  ! 

She  replied  simply,  already  recovered 
from  her  fright,  which  in  her  innocence  she 
could  not  explain  to  herself : 

—  I  too  beg  your  pardon. . .  but,  you  see, 
I  cannot  endure  to  be  kissed. . 


IV. 


-  Did  you  see  Darling  this  morning?— 
asked  M.  de  Bray  of  the  marquise,  as  she 
entered  before  breakfast  in  the  library  where 
he  was  talking  with  his  brother. 

-  No...  did  you? 

- 1  met  her  at  nine,  in  Benedictine 
Street...  said  Uncle  Marc...  She  was  run- 
ning, followed  by  old  Jean. 

The  marquise  exclaimed,  in  anger: 

-  What ! . . .  she  went  out. . .   without  my 
permission? 

-  She  was  probably  going   to  church... 
insinuated   M.    de   Bray  in  a   conciliatory 
manner. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  65 

—  To  church !     She  never  goes. . .  except 
Sunday. 

Marc,  standing  before  the  window,  an- 
nounced : 

—  There  she  is. . .  in  the  yard  with  Luce. 
"Luce"  was  the  Baronne  de  Givry,  M. 

de  Bray's  cousin.  She  came  into  the  li- 
brary, followed  by  Darling,  who  walked 
with  an  indifferent  air. 

Without  even  saying  "Good  morning"  to 
the  young  woman,  the  marquise  threaten- 
ingly demanded  with  the  heady  and  acute 
voice  which  always  made  Coryse  half  close 
her  eyelids : 

—  Where  do  you  come  from  ? 

—  From     Saint- Marcien — answered    the 
young  girl. 

—  You  who  never  go  to  church? 

—  0,  I  didn't  go  to  the  mass. 
-  Then  why  did  you  go? 

—  To  see  the  Abbe  Chatel. 
-Why? 

—  Because  I  had  something  to  say  to  him. 

—  Ah ! —  said  Mme.  de  Bray,  anxiously 
—  and  what  did  he  answer? 


66  A   GALLIC    GIKL. 

—  Before    saying  what    he  answered,    I 
should  perhaps  say  what  I  asked  ? 
And  laughingly  she  added : 

-  It  would  take  too  long. 

The  marquis  addressed  Mme.  de  Givry : 

-  Then   you  did  not  meet  at  the  Abbe 
Chatel's  confessional... 

-  No,    replied   the   young  woman,  with 
some  embarrassment  —  the  Abbe  Chatel  is 
not  my  confessor. 

-  Oh  —  said   the  marquise  in  astonish- 
ment—  is  it  possible?      You  never  lifted 
your  finger  without  asking  him  how  high 
you  could  hold  it.     You  talk  of  him  con- 
stantly... too  much,    in  fact.      What   has 
happened  ? 

Luce  de  Givry,  a  tall  woman  of  twenty- 
eight,  bony  and  dark,  destitute  of  all  grace, 
was  celebrated  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe  for  her 
austere  piety,  narrow  and  fatiguing.  Toler- 
ant, that  is,  never  caring  for  what  others  do 
or  do  not  who  do  not  think  and  live  as  she 
does,  agitated,  she  was  full  of  good  deeds 
and  of  love  of  society.  Marc  de  Bray  said 
that  society  was  ungrateful  to  her.  She 


A    GALLIC    GIKL.  67 

was  not  disagreeable  or  unintelligent,  but 
she  was  unpleasant  for  some  of  her  ridicu- 
lous manners  and  also  for  her  absolute  lack 
of  youth  and  of  charm.  Women  were  em- 
barrassed by  her  rigid  and  very  real  virtue ; 
men  did  not  forgive  her  for  her  lack  of 
grace,  and  Luce  was  appreciated  only  by 
her  relatives,  who  liked  her  for  her  fine 
qualities  and  her  naive  kindness. 

-  Tell   us  what   you  have   just  said  to 
Pierre?  —  asked  Uncle  Marc,  playing  sur- 
prise. 

Docilely  Mme.  de  Givry  repeated : 

-  I  do  not  confess  to  him  now. 

-  Are  you  at  odds? 

-We  are  not  at  odds...  he  is  the  one 
who  refuses  my  confession. 

-  Since    when?  —  asked    Darling,    also 
surprised. 

-  Since  my  ball...  the  ball  that  I  gave  at 
the  time  of  the  race  meeting. 

-  Why  should  he  have  cared  for  your 
ball  ?  —  said  Marc.  -  -  Is  he  stupid  enough 
to  care  for  such  matters? 

—  Oh  —  protested    Luce,    vivaciously  — 


68  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

it  isn't  the  poor  abbe's  fault.     It  is  mine. 
I  went  to  him  for  his  permission. . . 

-  Well? 

-  Well,  he  answered  : 

-  "My  child,  these  things  do  not  con- 
cern me  at  all !  " 

-  He  is  a  man  of  sense... 

-  I  insisted,  but  he  would  not  listen  to 
me.     He   said:     "Do   not  come  to  me,   a 
priest,  for  permission  to  give  at  your  house 
a  reception  that  the  Church  does  not  ap- 
prove.    I  cannot  encourage  it."     But  my 
husband  wants  me  to  give  this  ball.    ' i  Well, 
then,  give  the  ball  and  then  you  will  come 
to  tell  me  that  you  gave  it,  and  then  we  shall 
arrange  matters. ' '    I  will  not  give  a  ball  with- 
out your  permission.     "  In  truth,  my  child, 
you  place  me  in  a  very  ridiculous  position." 

-  He  was  right,  the  poor  man !  —  said 
Marc,  laughingly. 

-  He    is   an   old   fogy  !  —  declared    the 
marquise,    who   admired    no   other  priests 
than  the  Jesuits. 

Coryse   objected,   because  she  liked   the 
old  abbe. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  69 

-  An  old  fogy  !. . .  Not  on  your  life  !   But 
it  isn't  his  trade  to  excite  the  people  of 
Pont-sur-Sarthe  to  dance  jigs,  is  it? 

And  turning  toward  Mme.  de  Givry  : 

-  Only,  Luce,  there  is  something  in  all 
this  which  I  cannot  understand.     You  are 
constantly  at  balls.     You  do  nothing  else. 
I  thought  that  you  had  permission. 

-  I  have. 
-Well,  then? 

-It's  exactly  what  I  said  to  the  Abbe 
Chatel.  "But  since  you  permit  me  to  go 
to  balls?"  and  he  answered:  "  My  child, 
this  is  another  question. . .  a  ball  is  a  place 
where  one  is  more  exposed  to  the  danger  of 
sinning  than  many  other  places." 

-  Ah  !  —  said  Darling,  pensively. 

-  "  So,  when  you  give  a  ball,   you  en- 
courage,  you  facilitate  in  a  fashion,   the 
committing  of  sins.     Therefore,  you  are  in 
a  certain  measure  an  accomplice.     When,  on 
the  contrary,  you  go  to  balls,  I  give  you  the 
authority  to  go,  in  all  security,  because  I 
am  certain  that  not  only  you  do  not  sin  but 
you  cannot  be  for  anybody  an  occasion  for 


70  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

sinning. ' '  It  makes  you  laugh  ? — continued 
Mme.  de  Givry,  turning  toward  Marc,  who 
was  convulsed  with  laughter  in  his  arm- 
chair, but  I  was  struck  with  consternation  ! 
All  the  invitations  had  been  sent.  I  went 
home  and  told  Hubert  and  Mother  that  we 
were  not  to  give  a  ball,  because  Abbe  Chatel 
had  refused  his  permission. 

-  They  must  have  made  fine  faces  —  said 
Coryse,  who  was  laughing. 

-  You  may  be  sure.    Mother  said  that  I 
was  crazy  to  talk  of  it  to  the  Abbe.     Hubert 
was  furious.     He  said :   "Well,  we  will  not 
give  a  ball...  but  as  we  are  not  in  mourning 
for  the  present,  we  shall  not  receive  courte- 
sies without  returning  them ;  we  shall  not  go 
anywhere.     I  do  not  care,  because  I  execrate 
society...  But  you?  "     I  was  in  despair,  but 
God  took  pity  on  me.     He  inspired  me  with 
the    thought    of    calling   on   good   Father 
Ragon. 

-  Oh !  --  said  Coryse,  making  a  face. 

—  And  Father  Ragon  was  charming.  He 
said  when  I  related  to  him  Abbe  Chatel' s 
prohibition. . . 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  71 

-  Now  it's  a  prohibition  —  said  Darling. 
-  When  I  explained  to  him  why  I  came 
to  consult  him,  he  replied:  "What  does 
the  gospel  say,  my  child?  The  gospel  says 
that  the  wife  owes  obedience  to  her  hus- 
band. Your  husband  wishes  you  to  give  a 
ball...  give  a  ball... 

Coryse  protested. 

-What  an  idea,  to  make  God  meddle 
with  these  things!  Isn't  it  ridiculous  to 
discuss  such  things  over  His  back?... 

- 1  was  much  pleased  —  said  Mme.  de 
Givry--  I  ran  at  once  to  Abbe  Chatel  and 
told  him  that  I  had  permission  from  Father 
Ragon.  He  asked:  "  Then,  my  child,  you 
are  satisfied  with  Father  Ragon?"  I  did 
not  dare  to  fall  in  ecstacies  over  Father 
Ragon. . .  I  was  afraid  to  hurt  Abbe  Chatel' s 
feelings...  I  only  said  "  yes,"  because  I  did 
not  wish  to  tell  an  untruth.  Then  he  said : 
"  Then  return  to  him.  I  shall  be  charmed. 
I  never  knew  anybody  more  bothersome  to 
confess  than  you  are."  He  said  "bother- 
some," would  you  believe  it? 

—  He  must  have  learned  the  word  from 


72  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

me  —  exclaimed  Coryse  laughingly. —  The 
poor  Abbe  is  so  good  and  so  droll ! 

-  You  know,  Luce  —  advised  Marc   de 
Bray  —  you  would  do  well  not  to  tell  this 
story  to  anybody  else... 

-  Why  ?  —  asked  Mme.  de  Givry  ingenu- 
ously. 

-  Because  it  makes  you  ridiculous. . .  and 
the  Abbe  too — he  added,  thinking  that  the 
fear  of  harming  her  old  confessor  would 
make  the  young  woman  hush   much   more 
effectively  than  the  fear  of  harming  herself. 

The  marquise  exclaimed : 

-  The  Abbe  Chatelisaman  of  the  people. 
He  understands  nothing,  he  has  no   deli- 
cacy, no  appreciation  of  mundane  things... 
and,  naturally,  Coryse  selected  him  for  her 
confessor. 

-  The  Abbe  Chatel  is  not  my  confessor 
-  replied  Darling  —  at  least  he  has  ceased 

to  be. 

-  Since  when? 

-  Since  three  or  four  years...  since  no- 
body cares  for  what  I  do,  and  I  go  out  alone 
with  Jean...  since  my  first  communion. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  73 

-  Ah!  --  said  Mme.  de  Bray,  astounded 
at  realizing  that  she  knew  so  little  of  her 
daughter's  doings  —  and  yet  you  are  contin- 
ually at  his  house.     Why  do  you  go,  if  he 
is  not  your  confessor? 

-  He  is  my  confidant,  I  like  him  a  great 
deal. . .  I  believe  that  he  is  safe  and  straight. . . 
and  I  tell  him  my  little  affairs...  those  that 
I  think  I  should  relate. 

-  Then  —  asked  the  marquise  with  vex- 
ation —  to  whom  do  you  confess  at  present? 

-  To  nobody. . . 

And  as  her  mother  expressed  indignation : 
—  Or  to  everybody.  I  go  now  to  one, 
then  to  another. . .  to  the  cathedral,  to  the 
new  chapel,  to  other  churches...  I  go  in  all 
the  parishes. . .  and  as  there  are  three  priests 
in  every  parish,  I  have  a  margin !  I  go  to  con- 
fession about  six  times  a  year.  Thus  the 
list  of  confessors  will  last  long. 

-  This   little  girl  is  crazy. . .   absolutely 
crazy !  -  -  said  the  marquise  with  her  dolor- 
ous air  —  she  goes  from  right  to  left  and 
from  left  to  right  instead  of  selecting  an  in- 
telligent director. 


74  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


-  "  A  director!  ':    well,  that  is   exactly 
what  I  do  not  want  —  declared  Darling  --  I 
do  what  I  think  I  ought  to  do,  but  I  do  it 
as  I  wish.     It  is   prescribed  that  I  should 
confess,  but  it  is  not  ordained  that  I  should 
initiate    into    my    life,     accustom    to    my 
thoughts  and  to  my  faults,  somebody  who 
knows  me  and  meets  me  out  of  the  church ! 
These  exterior  and  divine  relations  mixed... 
like  a  salad...    are   odious  to  me.     I  think 
they  are  grotesque  and  repugnant. . . 

-  What   an  absurdity ! — said    the  mar- 
quise —  then,   one  should  not  consult  the 
same  physician  twice,  and  fear  to  meet  him 
except  when  he  calls  professionally. 

-  That  is  a  different  thing. 

-  On  the  contrary,  it  is  exactly  the  same 
thing.     To  one  you  show  your  soul,  to  the 
other  your  body...  that's  worse ! 

-  "Well. . .   if  I  had  to  show  one  or  the 
other,  I  would  rather  show  my  body  than 
my  soul 

-  Hush! — exclaimed  Mme.  de  Bray,  ris- 
ing and  extending  one  of  her  arms  in  a  ges- 
ture learned  from  one  of  the  dramas  which 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  75 

she  particularly  liked  --  Hush...  you  are  a 
horrible  creature  !  . . .  a  girl  without  shame ! 
Coryse  replied  calmly : 

-  That  is  to  say  that  I  have  a  different 
idea  of  shame...  no...   it's  funny!  ...  I  can 
never  use  that  word !    I  have  another  way  of 
judging  modesty,  probably... 

-  Hush !...  I  adjure  you  to  hush. 

-  ' '  Adjure  ' '  having  evoked  a  sarcastic 
smile  on  the  frank  face  of  Uncle  Marc,  his 
sister-in-law's  anger  turned  against  him. 

-I  advise  you  to  laugh...  it  becomes 
you  !  You  are  responsible  for  the  tone  and 
the  manners  of  Corysande ! 

And  as,  following  his  usual  custom,  Marc 
de  Bray  answered  not  a  word,  the  marquise 
became  angrier : 

-  Yes...  you  can  say  uno  "  as  much  as 
you  please...  you  are  the  cause  that  I  can 
obtain   nothing   from   that  child.     I  know 
very  well  that  she  has  a  bad  temper,  but... 

-  I  will  let  you  take  your  breakfast- 
said  Mme.  de  Grivry,   hastening  to  depart 
before  the  scene  which  she  foresaw. 

And  timidly,  half  turning  toward  Coryse 


76  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

whom,  in  her  terror  of  Mme.  de  Bray,  she 
did  not  dare  to  address  directly,  she  added 
softly : 

-  I  am  very  sorry. . .  it  is  my  fault.     I 
talked  of  the  Abbe  Chatel,  and  that  is  how 
the  rest  has  come. 

-  Pshaw !  -  -  replied     Darling     imperti- 
nently, looking  at  her  mother  -  -  the  rest 
conies  always  !     You  are  not  necessary  for 
that ! 

She  was  going  out,  following  her  cousin, 
but  the  marquise  called  her  angrily : 

-  Stay  here !     I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
Without  a  word,  Darling  took  her  seat. 
—  Well  —  asked  Mme.  de  Bray  --  what 

reply  shall  we  make  to  the  Due  d'Aubieres? 

-  None,  I  will  reply  to  him  myself,  said 
the  girl  quietly. 

-  I   am   your  mother,    and   I   have  the 
right,  I  suppose,  to  know  what  that  reply  is  ? 

-  Perfectly...  I  cannot  marry  M.  d'Au- 
bieres. . .  and  I  am  sorry,  because  I  like  him 
infinitely. 

-  But  it's  madness  !     But  you  will  never 
find  again  a  similar  situation ! 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  77 

—  I  repeat  that  it  would  be  wrong  of  me 
to  say  yes  against  my  will.  I  have 
reflected  a  great  deal.  I  am  absolutely 
decided. 

-  I  suppose  the  Abbe  Chatel  prompted 
you? 

-  The  Abbe  Chatel  approves,  but  he  has 
not  prompted. . .  on  the  contrary  he  advised 
that  I  should  wait  a  little  before  deciding. . . 
until  I  told  him.  . 

The  marquise  was  not  listening  to  her 
daughter.  Suddenly  she  became  pathetic 
and  tender : 

-  Corysande,  my  dear  child,  I  have  only 
you  in  the  world,  you  are  my  only  love,  my 
only    joy.     I    have    lived    only    for    you. 
Since  the  day  that  you  were  born,   I  have 
had  no  other  preoccupation  than  you ! 

Accustomed  as  she  was  to  the  lyrical 
explosions  of  her  mother,  Darling  always 
felt  a  vague  surprise  in  presence  of  her  for- 
midable audacity  which  seemed  comical. 
She  listened,  her  lips  apart,  her  eyes  shin- 
ing, her  temples  beating  with  a  premonition 
of  laughter.  She  lowered  her  eyes,  fearing 


78  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

to  explode  if  she  saw  the  expression  of  the 
Marquis  and  the  air  of  Uncle  Marc,  and 
replied  nothing. 

The  marquise  began : 

-  You  have  always  been  profoundly  un- 
grateful, I  know...  and  I  will  not  attempt 
to  change   you...  I  cannot   hope  that   you 
will  do  anything  for  me   or   for   anybody 
else. . .  but  it  is  in  your  own  interests  that  I 
pray  you  to  reflect...  not  to  take  this  de- 
cision at  random. 

-  I  have  not  taken  it  at  random  —  said 
Darling,  gravely. 

-You   take  it  without  consulting   any- 
body. 

-  Yes...  and  all  those  whom  I  have  con- 
sulted reply  that  I  must  take  counsel  only 
from  myself. 

The  marquise  joined  her  hands,  and  in  a 
tragic  tone : 

-  I  conjure  you  for  the  last  time  to  wait 
before  replying. . .  to  see  enlightened  people. 

And,  in  an  indifferent  tone : 

—  Father  Ragon,  for  instance  ! 

—  There  we  have  it  —  said  Coryse,  half 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  79 

laughingly,  half  sorrowfully  -  -  you  think 
that  he  will  invent  a  subtle  combination. . . 
as  for  Luce's  ball? 

-  Shall  I  drag  myself  on  my  knees  be- 
fore you? 

-  No,   thank  you,   I  would  rather  not. 
It  is  of  no  use  to  make  so  much  of  this.     I 
will  see  Father  Ragon  whenever  you  wish. 
It  is  indifferent  to  me.     Only  it  was  much 
easier   for   him    to    arrange   Luce's    affairs 
than     it    could     be    for    him    to    arrange 
mine. 

-  Promise  me  that  you  will  go  to-day  to 
see  Father  Ragon. 

-  I  promise. 

-  And  that  you  will  listen  to  his  advice. 

-  I  will  listen...  but  this  does  not  signify 
that  I  will  obey. 

-  What  did  you  say  to  him  last  night? 

-  To  whom? 

-  To  M.  d'Aubieres. 

-I  told  him   the  truth...  that   I   liked 
him  a  great  deal...  but  not  to  marry  him... 
still,  I  would  think... 
—What  did  he  say? 


80  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  He  kissed  me...  and  how  disagreeable 
it  was ! 

-  Because  it  was  the  first  time. . .  and  it 
intimidated  you  a  little. . . 

-  It  did  not  intimidate  me  at  all !     It 
produced  a  fearful  effect  upon  me,  that  is 
all. . .  and  the  proof  that  it  did  not  intimi- 
date me  is  that  I  dared  to  tell  him  the  effect 
that  it  produced,  so... 

-  Oh,  you  told  him... 

-  Poor  Aubieres  murmured    Uncle 
Marc,  laughing. 

A  servant  announced  that  breakfast  was 
served. 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  while  Coryse 
was  serving  the  coffee,  furtively  Mme.  de 
Bray  went  out  of  the  library. 

-  Ah !  --  said   the  child  —  she  is  going 
to  post  Father  Ragon  ...  it's  very  useless. 
Firstly,  I  have  a  horror  of  Father  Ragon... 
with  his  goodish  air  and  his  smiles,  which 
are  like  those  of  an  old  coquette,  trying  to 
hide  her  black  teeth. 

Always  good-natured,  the  marquis  ad- 
vised : 


A   GALLIC    GIRL.  81 

—  You  should  not  hold  people  in  horror 
without  knowing  why. 

-  But  I  know  why ! 

-  And  the  reason  is? 

—  Because  I  have  no  esteem  for  him. 
Uncle  Marc  and    M.    de  Bray  laughed. 

The  way  in  which  Darling  declared  that  she 
had  no  esteem  for  this  man,  who  was  in- 
telligent and  powerful,  and  who  led  all  the 
women  and  most  of  the  men  of  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe,  seemed  comical  to  them. 
The  girl  blushed. 

-  You  make  fun  of  me  —  she  said  —  I 
can  see  it.    "  Esteem  "  is  ridiculous...  but  I 
know  no  other   word  to    express  what    I 
think. 

M.  de  Bray  protested :  No,  my  little 
Darling,  nobody  makes  fun  of  you.  Tell  us 
what  Abbe  Chatel  said... 

-  I  told  him  last  night's  aifair. 

—  The  marriage  affair? 

—  No...  M.  d'Aubi&res's  kiss. 

-  Oh!  very  well...  I  did  not  know  that 
you  call  that  an  affair. 

—  Oh,  it  is  important  for  me !     At  the 


82  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

moment  when  M.  d'Aubieres  did  that  thing 
I  was  on  the  point  of  saying  yes...  A  little 
more  and  it  would  have  been  all  right. 

-  But  why  did  you  not  say  yes? 

-  Because,   I  tell  you,  it  was  horrible ! 
To  think  that  a  woman  is  obliged  to  let  her 
husband  kiss  her  whenever  he   wishes.     I 
cannot  take  this  decision  with  that  perspec- 
tive... no,  I  cannot! 

-  And    is   that  what   you   said   to   the 
Abbe?--  asked  Marc,   who  was  enjoying 
himself  a  great  deal. 

—  Yes. 

-  And  how  did  you  say  it  to  him? 

-I  said:  "M.  1'Abbe,  M.  d'Aubieres 
wants  to  marry  me...  at  the  house,  they 
want  me  to  say  yes...  " 

-  Allow  me  —  interrupted  M.  de  Bray  - 
I  have  never  wished  that. . . 

-  He  understood  very  well  that  it  wasn't 
you.     When  I  say  "they"  he  knows  very 
well  whom  I  am  talking  of.     I  asked  him 
what  he  advised  me  to  do,  and  he  answered  : 
4 '  My  dear  little  girl,  since  your  parents  wish 
that  this  marriage  shall  occur,   you  have 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  83 

only  to  consult  your  heart  and  your 
reason...  they  will  teach  you  much  better 
than  I  can  what  you  must  answer. ' '  I  said : 
"My  reason  answers  yes,  and  my  heart  al- 
most... but...  M.  d'Aubieres  kissed  me 
under  the  trees...  in  the  garden...  last 
night."  And  then,  I  tried  to  explain  in 
the  best  way  that  I  could  the  effect  that  it 
had  on  me. . .  but  he  interrupted  me  at  once, 
the  Abbe  Chatel...  "That  is  enough,  my 
child...  that  is  enough...  I  don't  want  to 
know  any  more...  "  Why  are  you  laughing, 
Uncle  Marc? 

-  Because  you  are  grotesque  with  your  re- 
lations to  the  unfortunate  Abbe,  who  was  not 
at  all  made  to  listen  to  that  sort  of  thing ! 

-  On  the  contrary,  he  was  there  for  that 
very  purpose.      I  was  anxious  to  explain  to 
him  the  odd  sort  of  phenomenon  which  oc- 
curred in  me  at  that  moment. 

-  Oh,  you  were  anxious  to  explain  to 
him... 

-  Yes...  I  told  him  that  I  had  never  felt 
that...  even  on  New  Year's  day  when  I 
have  to  kiss  pretty  disgusting  people. 


84  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  And  why  did  you  tell  Abbe  Chatel 
that  you  kissed  disgustirg  people  on  'New 
Year's  day?  —  asked  M.  de  Bray,  in  aston- 
ishment. 

-  Because  it  is  true...  Mme.  de  Clair- 
ville  always  kisses  me  through  her  wet  veil. 
And  cousin  La  Balue?...  do  you  think  that 
he  is  savory?...  He  has  no  wet  veil,  but  he 
slobbers  all  over  you...  it's  the  same  thing. 
Well,  I  think  I  like  that  better  than  I  did 
M.  d'Aubieres  last  night... 

-  You  are  not  serious. 

-  Not  serious?    Well,  if  you  think  I  am 
playing,  you  are  very  much  mistaken. 

And  she  asked  suddenly : 

-  What  time  is  it? 

-  Two  o'clock. 

-  What...  already?      Then    I    have    to 
rush,  since  I  have  promised  to  call  on  Father 
Kagon. 

-  You  have  plenty  of  time.     He  never 
goes  to  his  confessional  before  four  o'clock. 

-  I  am  not  going  to  his  confessional.      I 
will  ask  for  him  at  the  parlor.     I  would  have 
to  wait  too  long  at  the  confessional.     Znt ! 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  85 

She  slid  out  of  the  library,  and  her  clear 
voice  was  heard  exclaiming  to  Jean  to  ac- 
company her. 

Become  serious,  Uncle  Marc  affirmed : 
—  Whether  Darling  marries  Aubieres  or 
another. . .  the  moment  she  quits  us  we  shall 
miss  her  terribly. 


V. 


When  Darling  reached  the  house  of  the 
Jesuits,  it  was  about  three  o'clock.  A  cloud 
darkened  the  sky  and  made  the  air  stilling. 

—  Stay  in  the  garden  if  you  wish  —  she 
said  to  old  Jean,  who  came  behind  her  in 
the  parlor,  looking  around  him  with  a  dis- 
trustful  air — it  will   be  more  amusing  for 
you. 

He  replied,  hesitatingly : 
—  And  if  it  should  rain? 
-Well,    if  it  rains,    you   can   come   in 
again.     What  makes  you  walk  in  this  way? 
One  would  think  you  were  afraid  to  fall  in 
a  trap. 

—  I  am  not  afraid,  but  I  do  not  feel  at 
ease   here,  Miss   Coryse...  It  seems  to  me 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  87 

that  the  walls  are  listening  and  it  makes  me 
cold,  and  then...  this  blessed  floor... 

-  There  you  are...  swear  a  little...  it  will 
produce  a  good  effect  on  the  household.. 

—  Now    I   am   sliding. . .    now   there   are 
carpets ! 

-  Well,  you  musn't  skate  with  the  car- 
pets! 

And,  pushing  out  of  doors  the  old  servant 
who  was  embarrassed  by  the  shining  floor  and 
the  little  squares  of  carpet  in  the  room,  she 
said  laughingly : 

—  Go  away !  You  might  end  by  commit- 
ting a  crime. 

As  soon  as  he  was  out,  Darling  walked  up 
and  down  the  parlor,  which  she  saw  for  the 
iirst  time.  She  knew  of  the  new  house  that 
the  Jesuits  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe  had  built, 
only  the  chapel  where  she  came  in  spite  of 
herself  with  her  mother.  Mme.  de  Bray 
esteemed  rightfully  that  the  Jesuits  are  not 
only  people  that  it  is  good  for  one  to  see,  but 
also  people  with  whom  it  is  good  to  be  seen. 
All  the  stylish  society  went  to  their  ' '  Sa- 
lutes," where  sang  men  and  women  of  soci- 


88  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

ety  who  had  pretty  voices,  and  the  tribune 
of  the  chapel  of  the  Fathers  had  been  a  hot- 
house of  marriages  and  flirtations. 

Coryse,  at  first  discontented  with  these 
meetings,  which  she  thought  profane,  had 
little  by  little  become  interested  in  the  little 
intrigues  which  passed  under  her  eyes.  She 
knew  all  the  little  religious  or  mundane 
rivalries.  She  knew  that  one  Father  was 
envied  by  the  other  Fathers ;  and  also  that 
such  and  such  a  penitent,  elegant  or  well 
situated,  had  her  entrances  at  any  hour  in 
the  confessionals,  open  only  at  regular  hours 
for  more  modest  penitents. 

And  while  waiting  for  Father  Ragon — the 
most  popular  of  the  mundane  priests — Dar- 
ling compared  the  vast  house  built  with 
English  comfort  under  an  amiable  severity, 
with  the  sad  and  dirty  house  where  were 
piled  up  humbly  the  Cure  of  the  Cathedral 
and  his  three  vicars.  She  said  to  herself 
that  if  the  society  people  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe 
knew  the  way  to  one  of  the  churches,  the 
poor  knew  better  the  way  to  the  other.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  the  big  sums  brought  by 


A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


inheritance,  gifts  and  collections  stayed 
where  they  went,  while  the  little  sums  that 
came  with  much  trouble  did  nothing  but  go 
through  the  poor  little  gray  house. . . 

Darling  had  an  instinctive  hatred  for 
those  who  "amass."  The  word  "saving" 
which  she  heard  around  her,  pronounced 
with  the  respect  that  it  inspires  in  the  pro- 
vincials, appeared  to  her  hateful  and  repug- 
nant, and  the  thought  came  to  her  mind 
that  in  this  beautiful  house,  all  new,  they 
saved  a  great  deal  and  gave  very  little  to 
the  poor.  She  looked  at  the  windows  open 
in  the  white  walls,  and  they  recalled  to  her 
bank  windows.  And  the  Jesuits  who,  from 
time  to  time,  quickly  slid  along  the  room, 
resembled,  she  thought,  clerks  more  than 
monks.  In  this  convent,  everything  recalled 
the  world  to  her,  nothing  talked  of  God  to 
her. 

After  a  time,  Coryse  became  impatient : 

-  If  he  thinks  that  he  is  to  make  me 
pose  like  this  forever !  I  have  to  go  to  the 
lecture. 

She  went  to  the  window  and  saw,  in  the 


90  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

large  garden,  Jean  asleep  on  a  bench.  At 
first  correctly  seated,  stiff  as  formerly  on 
his  coachman's  box,  the  old  servant  little 
by  little  lengthened  his  legs  and  bent  his 
head.  And  the  Fathers  who,  from  time  to 
time,  passed  into  the  chapel,  turned  with 
surprise  their  delicate  faces  toward  the  old 
man  who  slept  on  a  bench  in  the  pose  of  a 
drunkard.  Their  mute  indignation  amused 
the  girl  infinitely,  and  she  was  not  at 
all  lonesome  when  a  voice,  at  once  very 
dry  and  very  soft,  made  her  turn  her 
head. 

-  You  are  here,  my  child ;  I  cannot  re- 
ceive you  at  present. 

-  Ah !  -  -  said     Darling  -     I     thought 
mother  asked  you  if  I  could  come. 

And  going  to  the  door  she  added,  amiably, 
and  as  if  delivered  from  a  weight : 

-  Well,  if  you  cannot,  I  am  going. . . 
Father  Ragon  stopped  her  with  a  gesture. 

-  I  cannot  receive  you  here... 

-  I  beg  your  pardon,  it  is  mother  who... 

-  Yes,  your  mother  knows  that  I  receive 
her  sometimes  in  the  parlor...  but  what  I 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  91 

can  do  for  her...  with  great  difficulty...  I 
cannot  do  for  yon. . . 

As  the  girl  said  nothing,  he  continued, 
with  the  same  clear,  white  voice : 

-  Your  mother  said,  my  child,  that  you 
wish  to  consult  me  on  a  very  grave  ques- 
tion. 

-  Oh...  I  wish...  that  is,  it  is  she  who 
wishes. . . 

-  Well,  I  will  listen  to  you  in  a  moment 
in  my  confessional. 

-  But  -  -  protested   Darling  —  I  do  not 
come  to  confess... 

-  It  does  not  matter ! 

Coryse  thought  of  the  prolonged  wait  in 
the  new  chapel,  frightfully  new,  where  gold 
shone;  the  chapel  where  one's  eye  never 
rested  on  anything  soft  and  quiet;  where 
one  could  neither  meditate  nor  pray,  and 
the  fear  which  she  felt  of  this  wait  sug- 
gested to  her  this  reflection  which,  she 
thought^  might  rescue  her : 

—1  will  wait  in  the  chapel !  It  is  not  so 
bothersome !  All  these  ladies  talk  so 
loud.. 


92  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

Father  Ragon  did  not  care  to  surrender 
to  the  mocking  ears  of  Darling  the  confi- 
dences of  those  whom  she  called  irreverently 
"holy  water  frogs,"  for  suddenly  he 
changed  his  mind,  saying  as  if  he  had  not 
heard  her  reflection : 

-  Since   you   seem   to   desire  it,    I  will 
listen  to  you  here. 

And,  changing  his  voice,  in  a  tone  deaf- 
ened and  extinguished : 

—  I  am  listening. . .  what  have  you  to  say 
to  me. 

She  replied  deliberately : 

-  I?...  nothing  at  all!...  I  thought  that 
you  had  something  to  say  to  me. 

More  accustomed  to  defense  than  to 
attack,  Father  Ragon  hesitated  an  instant 
and  then  said : 

—  Your    mother     said     that     the    Due 
d'Aubieres  had  asked  your  hand  in  mar- 
riage and  that  his  demand  had  been  re- 
ceived by  you  with  disgust. 

-  Yes,  you  may  say  that. 

The  Jesuit  had  never  spoken  to  Darling 
any  other  than  commonplace  phrases  to 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  93 

which  she  replied  in  monosyllables  or  not 
at  all.  This  freedom  of  language  surprised 
him  a  little. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence. 

-  Well?  —  questioned  Coryse  simply. 

-  Well  —  replied  Father  Ragon,  whom 
her  interrogations   embarrassed  a  little  - 
this  demand  which  would  be  flattering  to 
any  young  girl,  is  for  you  not  only  flatter- 
ing but  unexpected.     You  have  no  money. 

-  I  know  it ! 

-  The   Due   d'Aubieres,  without   being 
wealthy,  thinks  that  he  is  rich  enough  for 
two.     He  gives,  in  asking  for  your  hand,  a 
fine  example  of  disinterestedness. 

-  I  know  that,  too,  and  I  am  very  grate- 
ful to  M.  d'Aubieres,  whom  I  like  a  great 
deal. 

-  You  like  him? 

-  With  all  my  heart.     Of  all  those  who 
come  to  the  house,  he  is  the  one  whom  I 
like  best. 

-  Then  I  do  not  understand  why. . . 

-  What .   don't     you     understand?     It 
seems  to  me  that  it  is  limpid !     I  like  M. 


94  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


d'Aubieres  as  I  like  Mme.  de  Jarville,  for 
instance. . .  or  the  Abbe  Chatel. . .  I  like  them 
to  like  them,  but  not  to  marry  them ;  great 
Csesar ! 

-  My   child,    I   know  that  you   do  not 
know  what  marriage  is... 

-  Sure !     But  I  have  an  idea  of  it.     One 
always  has  an  idea  of  it.     One  always  has 
an  idea  of  things.     Well,  when  I  marry  I 
want  to  love  my  husband  in  another  way 
than   I   like   M.  d'Aubieres  and   the  Abbe 
Chatel. 

-  Yes,  you  are  a  little  sentimental,  as 
all  young  girls  are. 

-  I  ?  exclaimed   Darling  indignantly  - 
not  sentimental  for  two  cents ! 

And  reflecting  a  little,  a  little  troubled  in 
spite  of  herself,  she  rectified : 

-  Except  perhaps  for  flowers...  and  the 
sky...  and  rivers.     It  is  true  that  I  like  to 
lie  on  the  earth  and  dream  before  all  these 
things.     Yes!    Let's  say  that  I  am  senti- 
mental about  things  and  even  about  brutes, 
if  you  wish,  but  not  for  people,  oh,  no,  I 
am  not  sentimental. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  95 

Positively  stupefied  by  this  mode  of 
speech,  Father  Ragon  asked  with  a  smile 
of  amiable  contempt  at  the  corner  of  his 
thin  lips : 

-  Who  brought  you  up,  my  dear  child? 

Without  showing  that  she  discerned  his 
irony,  she  replied : 

-  At   present,  papa   and  Uncle   Marc... 
before,  Uncle  and  Aunt  de  Launay. 

And,  as  the  Jesuit,  collecting  his  thoughts, 
repeated,  "de  Launay,"  Darling  added, 
laughingly : 

-  Oh !    you  need  not  try  to  remember. . . 
They  never  come  here...   they  are  not  that 
kind  of  people...  they  are  good  old  quiet 
people  and  not  stylish... 

And  at  once  she  corrected : 

-  They  have  a  grand  air,  but  they  are 
not  in  the  swim.     They  go  to  their  parish. 
But  I  beg  your  pardon,  you  said  when  I  in- 
terrupted you  that  I  was  sentimental. 

-  I  was  saying  that  young  girls  are  all 
more  or  less  in  love  with  some  sort  of  an 
ideal...   an   ideal   which   they  forge  them- 
selves and  never  meet  anywhere. . . 


96  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  I  am  in  love  with  no  ideal. 

-  That  is  good.     You   may  then  freely 
consider  the  beautiful  future  which  will  be 
yours  if  you  marry  the  Due  d'Aubieres. 

-  What  beautiful  future?    I  never  could 
bear  the  idea  of  marrying  a  military  man. 
Yes,  I  have  a  horror  of  them. . .  I  mean  the 
officers...  as  for  the  soldiers,  it  isn't  their 
fault...    I   pity  them...    I   never  meet   one 
without  wishing  to  ask  him  to  come  to  the 
house  and  have  a  drink. 

Father  Ragon  looked  at  Darling  with  a 
frightened  air,  thinking  that  Mme.  de  Bray 
was  right  in  saying  that  her  daughter  was 
"not  like  everybody."  He  continued,  ex- 
aggerating his  cold  air  and  his  perfect  pre- 
ciseness : 

-  Truly,  my  child,  you  talk  a  singular 
language. . . 

Sincerely  and  gently,  Coryse  excused  her- 
self. 

-  Yes,  I  know...  it's  very  true...  but  I 
can't  prevent  it...    it's   instinctive!    I  beg 
your  pardon. . .  I  can  understand  that  it  must 
shock  you...    it   shocks  the  Abbe  Chatel. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  97 

And,  looking  at  him,  she  continued : 

-  You  are  a  man  of  society,  and  I  am 
not. 

-  Well  —  said  the  Jesuit  laughingly,  in 
spite  of  himself  -  -  are  you  disposed  to  re- 
flect before  refusing  this  marriage,  to  listen 
to  my  advice? 

-  To  reflect  will  be  of  no  use !     Firstly, 
when  I  want  to  reflect,  it  puts  me  to  sleep ; 
then,  the  more  I  will  reflect,  the  more  I  will 
say  no.     There  is  no  advantage  in  making 
me  reflect.     And  as  for  following  your  ad- 
vice... if  you  wish  me  to  talk  frankly... 

-  Yes,  talk  frankly. 

-  "Well,  I  do  not  know  why  I  should  fol- 
low your  advice.      You    don't  know  me. 
You  have  not  seen  me  much ;  everything  in 
me  is  displeasing  enough  to  you   to  make 
you  yell. 

And,  seeing  that  the    Jesuit  sketched  a 
vague  gesture  of  protest : 

-  Yes,  yes,  I  know  very  well  I  am  dis- 
pleasing to  you,  and  you  have  no  reason  to  be 
interested  in  me.     What  you  say  to  me,  you 
say  it  because  mother  asked  you  to  say  it. 


98  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


—  I  say  it  because  it  is  my  opinion. 

-  Have  it  your  way,  but  it  is  your  way 
because  mother  has  explained  to  you  that 
without  wealth  I  cannot  marry  a  good  hus- 
band.     So   under  pretext   that   I   am   not 
rich,  you  advise  me  to  marry  a  man  whom 
I  will  not  love  as  I  should  love  one  with 
whom  I  would  have  to  spend  my  life.         * 

-  My  child,  you  are  mistaken,  it  is  be- 
cause   the  Due  d'Aubieres   is   a   perfectly 
honorable  man,  perfectly  good,  that  I  ad- 
vise you  to  marry  him.     I  would  advise  you 
to  do  it  if  you  were  rich. 

-  Not  on  your  life !     If  I  were  rich,  in- 
stead of  asking  me  to  marry  M.  d'Aubieres, 
you  would  reserve  me  for. . . 

As  she  stopped  Father  Ragon  asked : 

-  I  would  reserve  you  for  whom? 

-  For  some  former  pupil  of  yours  who 
would   be   in   the   dumps...  or   who  would 
have  gambled...  or  anything   else   of  that 
sort...    yes!     That   is   always   the   way   at 
Pont-sur-Sarthe.     That's  why  I'm   glad   I 
have  no  money.      Oh,  you  know  how  to  aid 
those  who  are  yours ! 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  99 

Fearing  to  have  talked  too  much,  Dar- 
ling lifted  an  eye  almost  timid  on  the 
Jesuit.  His  beautiful,  distinguished  and 
serious  face  had  softened. 

-  Well  -  -  he  said,   looking   at   the  girl 
benevolently  -  -  it  seems  to  me  that  those 
who  stand  by  their  friends  must  be  agree- 
able to  you. . .  you  must  like  those  who  lend 
their  aid  to  others. 

-  Yes,  if  it  is  an  individual. . .  no,  if  it  is 
a  corporation. 

Father  Ragon  was  surprised,  looking  at 
Darling  and  saying  nothing. 

Since  he  had  been  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe 
this  little  girl  of  sixteen  was  the  first 
thoughtful  being  he  had  met. 

Seeing  that  the  child  mistook  his  silence 
for  a  dismissal,  he  asked : 

-  You  have  read  a  great  deal  ? 

-  Xo...  not  much. 

-  Then  you  have  thought  seriously  on 
serious  things? 

-  Sometimes...  on  horseback.     It  is  es- 
pecially when  I  am  on   horseback   that  I 
think  about  things.     Then  I  cannot  go  to 


100  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

sleep  while  reflecting.     So  I  reflect,  but  it 
is  involuntary. 

-  And  the  result  of  your  reflection  is, 
that  you  do  not  like  our  order? 

-  Your  order  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be 
an  order. . .  a  religious  order,  I  mean.    'The 
Dominicans,  the  Capuchins  and  the  others. . . 
are   orders.     They  busy  themselves   about 
God,    they    preach,    they   do    things    that 
religious  men  should  do.     You  are  a  sort 
of   an   association;    you   make    marriages, 
dabble  in  politics,  in  a  little  of  everything... 
in  fine,    you  frighten  me...  and   yet,   God 
knows  that  it  takes  a  great  deal  to  frighten 
me. 

-  I  assure  you,  my  child,  that  we  are 
working  for  the  good  and  the  salvation  of 
humanity. 

-  Its  good...  on  earth,  I  am  convinced  of 
that.     Its  salvation...  I  don't  think  you  are 
much  interested  in  that,  and  for  you,  hu- 
manity is  limited  to  people  in  society. 

-  I  see  that  you  have  decidedly  a  preju- 
dice against  us.     You  are  wrong,  my  dear 
child. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  101 

—  Oh !  -  -  Darling   said,    politely  -  -  not 
more    of    a    prejudice    against    you    than 
against  the  Free-Masons,  for  instance...  or 
the    college    boys    who    continue   to  haze 
through   life.     I   hate,    in  general,   people 
who  put  themselves  together  in  a  mass  in 
order  to  throw  individuals  down. 

to 

—  This  hatred  may  lead  you  very  far. 

-  Yery  far !     For  instance,  when  I  was 
a  little  girl,  when  I  went  with  my  nurse  on 
errands   and   heard    the   poor  little   shop- 
keepers complain...  almost  cry,  while  say- 
ing that  since  'the  great  stores  of  Benedic- 
tine street  they  did  no  business,   when  I 
saw  many  of  the  former  shops  close  one  by 
one,  when  I  heard  that  such  and  such  a  man 
had  failed,  I  was  enraged,  I  can  tell  you, 
against   these   enormous  stores   that  harm 
the   little   ones,    and   very   often   at   night 
when  I  said  my  prayers,  I  told  God  with 
all  my  strength  that  He  should  have  a  mag- 
nificent idea  if  He  only  destroyed  these  big 
stores  during  the  night. . . 

-  But  it  was  an  abominable  thought. . . 

—  Quite  likely !     I  don't  defend  it !     I 


102  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

had  it,  that  is  all !  I  did  not  say  these 
things  to  Uncle  Albert  or  to  Aunt  Mathilde, 
you  may  well  think.  With  them  it 
wouldn't  have  gone.  Oh,  no !  In  these 
days  I  never  told  my  ideas  to  anybody. 

-  And  I  hope  you  do  not  now? 

-  Oh,  yes,  now  I  say  all  these  things  to 
the  Abbe  Chatel  or  to  Uncle  Marc. 

-  It  is  true  —  said  the    Jesuit,  with  a 
smile  —  that  M.  le  Yicomte  de  Bray  is  a 
socialist. . .  or  at  least  he  presented  himself 
as  a  socialist  at  the  last  elections. 

-  No  —  said  Darling  brusquely,  not  ad- 
mitting that  anybody  should  criticise  Uncle 
Marc  —  M.   de   Bray   is   what   you   call   a 
socialist,  but  he  did  not  rest  on  that  to  be 
elected.     He   presented  himself  without  a 
label. . . 

—  And  he  failed. 

The  candidate  whom  the  Fathers  pro- 
tected had  been  elected.  Darling  replied 
angrily : 

-  Yes. . .  too  much  money  was  needed  to 
be  elected ! 

Then  rising,  without  waiting  for  the  Jes- 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  103 

nit's  invitation,  she  added  a   little  mock- 
ingly : 

-  But   I   must   not   detain   you  longer. 
You  were  in  a  hurry. . .  and  all  these  ladies 
must  be  stamping  their  feet  in  the  chapel! 

Father     Ragon     rose;     and     as    Coryse 
yielded  precedence  to  him : 

-  Xo  —  he   said   smilingly   and  courte- 
ously -  -  You  are  no  longer  a  little  girl,  and 
you    will    be,    soon    perhaps,     "  Mme.    la 
Duchesse. ' ' 

-  It  would  astonish  me  —  said  Darling, 
shaking  her  hair,  which  fell  in  waves  to  her 
waist  --  I  haven't  the  sort  of  head  neces- 
sary for  that  position. 

Father  Ragon  asked : 

—  I  see  nobody  at  the  door. . .  you  did 
not  come  alone,  did  you? 

—  Oh,  no...  I  was  not  brought  up  in  the 
American  fashion. . .  I  have  a  maid. . . 

And  showing  old  Jean  who  was  asleep  on 
the  bench : 

-  As   a   decoration,  my  maid   is  not   a 
success. 

When  Darling  had  passed  the  gate  she 


104  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

turned  round,  looked  at  the  clock  of  the 
chapel,  and  murmured  laughingly : 

—  Half  past  five !     Haven't  I  made  the 
holy  water  frogs  pose ! 


VI. 


They  were  at  dinner  when  Mme.  de  Bray 
came  into  the  dining-room.  They  had 
renounced  all  hope  of  seeing  her :  she 
almost  never  arrived  on  time;  pretexting 
visits,  stopped  clocks,  and  if  need  be,  car- 
riage accidents.  As  soon  as  she  was  seated 
she  asked,  with  a  surprisingly  amiable  air, 
of  Coryse : 

-  Well,  were  you  pleased  with  Father 
Kagon? 

-  Oh,  quite  pleased, —  replied  the  girl 
indifferently. 

And  after  a  moment  of  reflection  she 
added : 


106  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  But  I  do  not  know  if  lie  was  pleased 
with  me. 

-  What  did  you  say  to  him  —  asked  M. 
de  Bray,  vaguely  anxious. 

-  A    lot    of    things. . .  the    conversation 
turned. . . 

-  I   will   see   him  to-morrow  morning — 
said  the  marquise,  less  amiable  —  and  he 
will  tell  me  what  occured. 

-  But  —  remarked  Darling,  peacefully, 
-  I  can  as  well  tell  you.     In  the  first  place 

nothing  happened... 

-  Ah ! . . .  that  is  surprising. 

-  And  why  is  it  surprising? 

—  Because  you  seem  embarrassed. 

-  I. . .  not  at  all. . .  why  should  I  look  em- 
barrassed? 

-  I  don't  know. 

-  Nor  I  either.     I  was  asked  to  go  and 
talk  with  Father  Ragon.   I  went,  we  talked 
and  that's  all ! 

-  And  nothing  disagreeable  occurred? 

-  No.     He  is  well  brought  up. . .  too  well ! 
So  am  I,  not  too  much,  but  enough.     No,  I 
think  he  approved  of  nothing  that  I  said, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  107 

and  I  am  sure  that  nothing  which  he  said 
to  me  convinced  me.  Barring  that,  we  are, 
as  we  were  before... 

-  Then  -  -  asked  Mme.   de  Bray  --  you 
have  not  yet  decided  to  marry  M.  d'Au- 
bieres  ? 

-  I  have  decided  not  ta marry  him... 
And  turning  toward  Uncle  Marc : 

-  I  will  reply  to  him  to-night,  since  you 
say  that  he  is  to  come. 

-  No  —  exclaimed  the  marquise  angrily 
-  you  will  not  reply  to  him  to-night !     It 

is  madness  to  refuse  without  thinking ! 

-  I  have  thought !     I  have  done  nothing 
else.      Since    yesterday    I    have   reflected 
enough  to  kill  me. 

-  You  must  wait  before  giving  a  definite 
reply  to  the  Due  d' Aubieres ! 

-  Wait  for  what?    I   have   waited  long 
enough. 

-  You  must  not  talk  to  him  to-day !  — 
said  the  marquise,  rising  imperiously. 

And  seeing  that  instead  of  going  into  the 
parlor  Darling  went  up  the  stairway,  she 
asked : 


108  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  Well,  where  are  you  going? 

—  To  my  room. 

-  You  must  stay  here. 

The  girl  reddened  and  replied  clearly : 

—  That  is  indifferent  to  me,  but  if  I  re- 
main here  I  will  talk  to  M.  d' Aubieres  as  I 
must.     I  will  tell  him  that  I  am  formally 
determined  not  to  marry  him. 

—  You  are  crazy ! 

—  You  have  said  it  so  much. 

-  There  he  comes  —  exclaimed  the  mar- 
quise suddenly. 

-  Ah !    so   much   the   better  —  sighed 
Darling  —  I  will  get  rid  of  that  weight. 

And  going  to  the  Colonel,  who  was  enter- 
ing, she  said  to  him  without  embarrass- 
ment: 

-  M.  d'Aubieres,  I  would  like  to  talk  to 
you...  will  you  come  with  me  in  the  garden? 

And  going  down  the  stoop  smilingly,  she 
added  in  a  low  voice. 

-  But  you  must  not  kiss  me. 

The  poor  man  followed  her  docilely,  di- 
vining what  she  was  to  say  to  him.  Before 
she  talked  he  inquired  in  a  touching  voice : 


A   GALLIC    GIRL.  109 

—  It  is  to  tell  me  that  you  do  not  want 
me? 

—  Yes  —  said   Darling,    sorry    for    this 
great  grief  that  she  was  causing  —  I  have 
thought  of  you  a  great  deal  since  last  night, 
and  I  have  understood  that  I  cannot  marry 
you.     I  like  you  well,  however.     I  like  you 
with  all  my  heart.     I  am  sorry  to  tell  you 
these  things,  but  it  is  better  to  tell  them 
before  than  to  tell  them  after,  isn't  it? 

He  said  nothing.  She  could  not  see  him 
in  the  night,  but  she  divined  how  unfortu- 
nate he  felt,  and  the  thought  saddened  her. 
-  I  pray  you  -  -  placing  her  hand  softly 
on  M.  d'Aubieres's  arm,  — don't  grieve  over 
it.  I  am  not  worth  grieving  over.  I  am 
ignorant  and  badly  brought  up.  I  have  all 
the  vices  of  the  family,  as  my  mother  says. 
I  am  incapable  of  being  a  colonel's  wife.  I 
would  never  know  how  to  talk,  nor  receive, 
nor  make  a  presentable  face  to  people  who 
displease  me,  nor  persuade  idiots  that  I 
think  they  have  wit.  I  am  not  a  woman, 
I  am  a  savage,  made  to  live  with  flowers  and 
with  animals. 


110  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

Suddenly,  anxiously,  chanring  the  tone 
of  her  voice,  she  exclaimed : 

—Where  is  Gribouille?     I  haven't  seen 
him  since  breakfast. . .  He  may  be  lost. 

And  she  ran  through  the  lawn  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  stables.  In  an  instant  she 
came  back,  still  running,  followed  by 
Gribouille,  jumping  on  her  shoulders. 

-  I  beg  your  pardon  —  she  said,  out  of 
breath  -  -  I  beg  your  pardon  for  leaving  you 
in  that  way !     I  was  afraid  for  Gribouille ! 
It  does  not  matter. . .  I  should  not  have  done 
it...  in  the  midst  of  a  serious  conversation... 
that  gives  you  an  idea  of  the  sort  of  girl 
that  I  am. 

As  the  Due  made  no  answer  she  asked : 

-  Aren't  you  here? 

-  Yes,  --he  said  hoarsely. —  yes...  I  am 
here. 

He  had  taken  a  seat  near  the  alley  on  a 
mound.  Darling  went  near  him,  feeling 
that  he  was  crying. 

-  What !  —  she  said,  violently  affected. . . 
what !  you  are  crying? 

The  thought  that  this  man  who  appeared 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  Ill 

to  her  a  giant,  almost  old,  could  cry,  had 
never  come  to  her.  Astonished  and 
troubled,  she  sat  near  him, 

-  Oh,  --  she  said,  almost  ready  to  cry 
herself. 

She  thought  of  nothing  to  say.  She  lost 
her  head.  She  thought  "that  she  was  hor- 
ribly wicked  and  stupid,  to  torment  this 
man  who  was  so  good,  and  was  crying  near 
her. 

The  idea  that  somebody  could  suffer  for 
her  or  because  of  her  was  odious  to  Coryse. 
She  preferred,  a  thousand  times,  to  suffer 
herself.  And  at  once  she  said  to  herself : 

-  Well. . .  I  will  tell  him  what  is  going 
through  my  head...  and  then  afterward,  if 
he  wants  to  marry  me  all  the  same,  well,  I 
will  marry  him. 

-  Listen    to    me  —  she   said,    with   her 
sonorous  voice,  which  so  profoundly  moved 
the   Due  --  listen   to    me    and  understand 
me  if  you  can,  because  I  do  the  best  I  can, 
but  it  may  not  be  very  clear...  It  is  very 
hard  to  say...  If  we  were  in  the  sunlight 
instead  of  being  in  the  dark,  if  I  saw  your 


112  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

face  and  if  you  saw  mine...  I  would  never 
dare...  never.  But  to  begin  with,  do  not 
cry...  that  is  horrible  to  me. 

-  And  as  he  continued  to  cry,  she  knelt 
before  him : 

-  I  pray  you. 

She  put  her  arms  around  his  neck  and 
kissing  affectionately  his  wet  cheek,  she 
repeated  in  a  supplicating  voice  : 

-I  pray  you...  since  I  tell  you  that  I 
will  do  all  that  you  wish ! 

Forgetting  the  day  before,  she  went  near 
him  closer,  candid  and  tender. 

He  pushed  her  almost  harshly : 

—  No,  no ! 

At  first  surprised,  Darling  rose,  saying, 
sadly : 

-  Oh,  yes,  I  see.     You  are  doing  as  I 
did  yesterday. 

And  timidly  she  sat  by  the  side  of  the 
Due  without  saying  a  word.  He  continued, 
timidly : 

-  No,  do  not  believe  this,  my  dear  little 
Coryse.     You  cannot  understand  me ;  I  am 
nervous,  miserable.     I  do  not  know  what  I 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  113 

am  doing  or  what  I  am  saying.     I  had  made 
such  a  beautiful  dream  and  I  have  fallen 
from  such  a  height. 
She  asked  anxiously : 

-  If  you  had  what  you  call  ' '  a  beautiful 
dream,"  it  isn't  my  fault,  is  it?     I  mean, 
I  am  not  the  one  who  made  you  think  that 
I  would  marry  you?     I  have  not  tried  to 
make  you  love  me,  have  I? 

-  No,  certainly ! 

-  All  right,  then.     If  I  had  done  that  it 
would  break  my  heart.     I   think   that   to 
make  eyes  and  faces,  and  all  the  rest,  to 
people  to  make  them  think  that  they  please 
you  or  that  you  desire  to   please  them  is 
abominable,  yes,  abominable! 

And  after  a  silence,  she  added : 

-  I  see  people  do  that  around  me. . .  but 
I  will  never  do  it. 

-  You   said  a  moment   ago  —  said   the 
Due  —  that  you  would  explain  to  me  why 
you  do  not  wish  to  be  my  wife. 

-  Yes,  and  it  embarrasses  me  a  little  to 
explain  this  to  you.     I  know  of  life  only 
what  I  can  guess,  and  it  isn't  much.     But 


114  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

I  hear  conversations.  When  there  is  a  ball 
at  the  house  I  see  a  great  many  little 
things...  I  am  not  talking  of  the  young 
girls...  the  young  girls  can  do  what  they 
like...  there  is  nothing  wrong  about  that, 
since  they  are  not  married. . .  but  the  ladies. . . 
there  are  some  who  deceive  their  husbands. . . 
and...  deceiving  one's  husband,  I  do  not 
know  exactly  where  that  begins  or  where  it 
ends,  but  I  think  that  it  is  very  wrong. 

-  Certainly  it  is  wrong ! 

-  Well,  then...  I  am  sure  that  if  I  mar- 
ried you...  I  would  deceive  you. 

-  But   -  -  muttered   M.    d'Aubieres  as- 
tounded —  why  are  you  sure  of  that? 

-  Sure  as  much  as  one  can  be  of  that 
sort  of  thing.     Until  now  I  have  never  met 
anybody  about  whom  I  have  said  to  myself : 
"  I  would  marry  him." 

-  Well. 

-  Well,  if  after  we  are  married  I  said  to 
myself  one  day :   "  Hello  !  here's  a  man  that 
I  would  marry, ' '  think  of  it !  what  a  blow ! 

In  spite  of  his  grief   the  Due   felt  like 
laughing,  but  he  replied  gravely : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  115 

-  What  you  are  saying  has  happened  to 
many  women 

-  And  then? 

-  And    then,    instead    of    letting    their 
thoughts  go  to  the  new-comer,  they  rested 
on  their  husband. . .   and  if  he  was  a  good 
husband...  which  I  should  be... 

-  I  am  sure  of  that  —  said  Darling  with 
conviction  -  -  but  do   you  think  that  it  is 
enough  for  a  man  to  be  a  good  husband  if 
his  wife  is  not  a  good  wife? 

-  And  why  should  you  not  be  a  good 
little  wife,  honest  and  brave? 

-  That's  what  I  would  be...  if  I  did  not 
meet. . . 

-What? 

-  The  man  whom  I  may  never  meet,  but 
who  is,  certainly,  not  you. 

And  as  M.  d' Aubieres  seemed  moved,  she 
added,  quickly : 

-  Yes,    I   like   you    a    great    deal. . .    I 
have  already  said  that  to  you. . .  but  I  think 
that  I  do  not  like  you  at  all,  not  at  all  as 
one  should  like  one's  husband.     I  am  sure 
that  the  day  when  I  meet  the  man  whom  I 


116  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

shall  love  as  a  husband,  I  will  let  myself 
go. . .  Oh,  without  any  reserve !  You  see,  it 
is  a  strange  thing  to  say  to  you...  but  it 
would  be  stranger  to  marry  you  without 
saying  it.  If  after  you  know  what  prevents 
me  from  saying  yes,  you  persist  in  wanting 
me...  at  least,  you  are  forewarned...  you 
cannot  reproach  me  for  anything.  When  I 
say,  "  cannot  reproach  me, "  that's  a  way  of 
talking,  because  I  can  realize  that  it 
couldn't  please  you  much...  But  I  will  not 
have  been  a  hypocrite.  Do  you  understand  ? 

—  I   understand  —  said  M.    d'Aubieres 
softly  -  -  that  you  would  be  miserable  with 
me,  and  that  I  would  be  horribly  miserable 
to  see  you  miserable.     I  have  to  renounce 
what  has  been  for  six  months  all  my  joy,  all 
my  hope.     You  have  made  me  understand 
very  delicately  and  very  picturesquely  that 
I  am  an  old  fool. 

—  You  are  not  angry  with  me  —  asked 
Coryse  -  -  I  am  sure  that  you  are  angry. 

—  No,  I  assure  you  that  I  am  not. 

He  tried  to  rise  and  remained  imbedded  in 
the  soil. 


A    GALLIC    GIEL.  117 


—  Hello  !  —  lie  said,  surprised  to  feel  that 
every  movement  made  him  go  in  deeper. 

Gribouille,  seeing  him  move,  had  under- 
stood that  they  were  going,  and  danced 
before  him,  barking  furiously. 

The  Due  tried  to  rest  on  his  hand,  but  it 
went  into  the  soft  earth. 

—  I  do  not  know  where  I  am  —  he  said 
to  Darling,  who  standing  in  the  alley  was 
waiting. —  It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  seated 
in  a  hole...  and  the  more  I  try  to  get  out  of 
it  the  more  I  fall  into  it. . . 

She  extended  her  hands,  he  took  them 
and  rose  at  once.  But  as  she  approached, 
she  felt  the  soil  yielding  under  her. 

• —  What  is  the  matter  —  she  asked, 
touching  the  place  that  M.  d'Aubieres  had 
just  quitted.  She  stood  up  laughing : 

-  Ah,  it's  the  flower  graveyard,  you 
were  seated  on  it. . .  and  as  I  buried  a  great 
many  this  morning,  it's  all  soft. 

He  asked : 

—  "What  graveyard? 

—  Flowers...  yes,  don't  talk  of  this  at 
the  house,    they  would    laugh  at  me...  I 


118  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

know  it's  silly,  but  I  like  flowers  so  much  that 
I  cannot  see  them  soiled  when  they  are  dead. 
In  truth,  since  her  earliest  infancy,  Dar- 
ling buried  her  faded  flowers.  The  idea 
that  a  flower  might  touch  something  dirty 
was  unbearable  to  her.  In  winter  she 
burned  them  in  the  chimney  of  her  room, 
but  in  summer  she  buried  them  conscienti- 
ously in  the  garden,  in  hiding,  fearing  the 
scoldings  of  her  mother  and  the  sarcasms  of 
Uncle  Marc. 

-  Don't    tell    about  it?  —  she  repeated 
anxiously  —  except      Gribouille,      nobody 
knows  about  it. . .  and  I  would  be  so  angry 
if    people    laughed   at  me...  because   they 
would  be  right...  it  is  ridiculous ! 

-  You  may  be  sure,  Mile.  Coryse,  I  will 
never  talk  to  anybody  about  your  flower 
graveyard. 

And  sadly  he  added : 

-This  poor  little  graveyard...  I  do  not 
at  all  resemble  a  flower,  but  I  was  buried  in 
it  to-night...  Yes...  completely  buried. 

-  ~Now  —  exclaimed    Coryse  —  are   you 
going  to  think  of  that  again? 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  119 

-  No,  but  let  me  go  out  by  the  smaller 
gate.     I   prefer   not   to  go   into  the  house 
with  my  eyes   big   as  my  fists.     It   would 
be  too  ridiculous.     I  will  come  to  see  Marc 
to-morrow  morning. 

-  You   like   Uncle   Marc   a  great   deal, 
don't  you? 

-  A  great  deal. . .  He  Is  a  friend  of  my 
childhood. 

—  You  are  of  the  same  age? 

-  He  is  three  years  younger  than  I  am. 

-  It's  the  same  thing. 

-  The  same  thing. . .  yes,  you  are  right. 
But,  when  he  kissed  for  the  last  time  the 

little  solid  and  supple  hand  of  Darling,  M. 
d' Aubieres  said  to  himself : 

-Well,  no...  it  isn't  the  same  thing... 
it's  three  years  younger. 

When  she  came  in  the  parlor  the  girl 
looked,  as  if  she  saw  him  for  the  first  time, 
at  Uncle  Marc,  who  was  reading  near  a 
lamp.  And  instead  of  replying  to  M.  and 
Mme.  de  Bray,  who  were  questioning  her 
anxiously  on  the  Due's  disappearance,  she 
thought : 


120  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  It  is  not  three  years  younger,  it  is 
ten  years  younger  that  Uncle  Marc  seems 
to  be. 


VII. 


The  next  morning,  Darling,  lying  on  the 
lawn,  was  playing  with  Gribouille  while 
waiting  for  the  hour  of  her  lecture,  when 
Uncle  Marc  coming  near  her,  said  in  a 
harsh  tone : 

-  Aubieres  has  gone. 
She  rose  with  a  bound. 

-  How  gone...  gone  where? 

-To  Paris...  where  he  will  shake  him- 
self a  little. . .  He  needs  it,  the  poor  fellow ! 
—Ah !  -  -  said  the  girl  -  -  you  frightened 
me ! . . .  I  thought  he  had  gone  forever ! 

-  Would  you  have  been  sorry? 

-  You  may  be  sure ! 

—  Aubieres's    sorrow    grieved  me...  but 


122  A    GALLIC    GIEL. 

now  that  it  is  all  finished. . .  I  can  tell  you, 
Darling,  that  I  think  you  have  done  well. 

-  Good ! . . .  and  papa  ? 

-  Papa  too. 

-  Then  all  is  for  the  best !     Do  you  go 
out  riding  this  morning? 

-  No...  I  have  some  letters  to  write...  I 
haven't    told  you...  I  have   great    news... 
Aunt  Crisville  is  dead ! 

-  Ah  —  she  said,  indifferently  —  she  is 
not  my  aunt...  and   I   did   not   know  her! 
Neither  did  you,  since  she  never  left  the 
south. 

-  I  did  not  see  her  often. . .  but  I  was  her 
godchild. 

And  Uncle  Marc  continued,  quietly : 

-  I  came  to  announce  to  you  that  she 
left  her  wealth  to  me. 

-  All  her  wealth  !  --  exclaimed  Coryse 
in     astonishment  —  but     she     is     so,      so 
wealthy ! 

-  She  was  so  wealthy,  the  poor  woman ! 
Darling   threw   her   arms   around   Uncle 

Marc's  neck,  while  Gribouille  imitating  her, 
jumped  at  his  legs. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  123 

-Oh!  ...  how  happy  I  am...  plenty  of 
money  will  become  you  so  well ! 

-  Let  me  go. . .  you  strangle  me  —  said 
Marc  de  Bray  brusquely  -  -  I  have  repeated 
to  you  a  hundred  times  that   you   are  too 
big  to  hang  on  my  neck  like  a  baby ! 

-  I  beg  your  pardon...  I  always  forget... 
and  what  are  you  to  do  with  all  that  money? 

-  To  begin  with,  I  will  travel. . . 

-  Oh !  --  murmured  the  girl  —  you  are 
going. . .  you  too  ? 

And  leaning  her  head  on  Marc's  shoulder 
she  cried  silently. 

-Aren't    you    silly?  —  he   said   impa- 
tiently. 

She  replied,  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice  : 

-  I  beg  your   pardon.     I   am   irritated. 
I  do  not  know  what  is  the  matter  with  me. 
A   moment  ago  it  was  M.  d'Aubieres  who 
liked  me,  and  who  has  gone...  now  it's  you ! 

She  concluded : 

-People    who    like  me...  there    aren't 
bushels  of  them,  you  know. 

—  Well,  I'm  not  going  never  to  return... 
I'm  not  going  around  the  world...  France 


124  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

is  sufficient  for  me.     Anywhere  else  I  get 
the  spleen. 

-  It's  now  that  you  will  be  able  to  go 
into   politics...  This  time  it   won't   be  the 
little    whipped-cream    dude   who'll   win... 
How  this  money  comes  in  time...  it  is  just  a 
month  before  the   elections...  you'll    have 
time  to  down  the  pupil  of  the  good  Fathers 
who  lies  to  the  working  men. . .  who  lies  to 
people  in  society. . .  who  lies  all  the  time. . . 
yes,    you'll   down   him...    and  won't   I  be 
happy? 

Uncle  Marc  asked,  laughingly : 

-  You'll  be  happy  because  of  your  in- 
terest  in   me,    or   because   you   detest   the 
whipped-cream  dude? 

-  I'll  be  happy  for  both  reasons  ! . . .  And 
charity?   I  suppose  that  you  are  to  do  it  on 
a  large  scale  now.     You   did  it  when  you 
were  not  rich ! 

-  How  do  you  know? 

-  I  know  the  people  whom  you  aided... 
and  when  I  see  them  they   talk  of  you... 
that's  why  I  go...  otherwise  I  might  as  well 
go  to  people  who  didn't  have  you. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  125 

-  How  is  it  that  they  talk  to  you  of  me, 
and  never  talk  to  me  of  you? 

-  Because  I  tell  them  not  to.     I  say  to 
them  :   "  If  he  knew  that  I  came  here,  and 
that   he   might  meet   me   here,  you  would 
never  see  him  again. . .   never. . .  because  he 
hides  himself  to  do  good,  as  others  do  to 
steal."     Is  it  true? 

-  What  a  queer  little  girl  you  are. 

-  Oh,  does  mother  know? 

-  Know  what? 

-  That   you    have    inherited    so    much 
money? 

-Yes. 
Darling  laughed : 

-  She  must  have  made  a  long  face. . .  for 
although  she  had  an  air  of  saying  that  the 
aunt  would  leave  her  wealth  to  charitable 
institutions,    she    always   hoped   that   you 
and  father  would  have  it...   and  as  what 
she     expected     is     only    lialf     true,    and 
not    the    right    half,    she    must    be    in    a 
state... 

Then  she  asked,  sadly : 

—  Is  it  now  that  you  are  going,  say? 


126  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-For  a  few  days  on  business...  but   I 
will  return  quickly. 

-  Yes...  come  back...  you  haven't  much 
time  for  the  elections.     I'll  work  for  you ! 
Oh,  poor  old  Jean !    He'll  have  to  trot  on 
foot  and  on  horseback ! 

And,  as  the  Yicomte  laughed,   she  con- 
tinued : 

-  You  don't  care  for  my  work?...  that's 
where  you  make    a    mistake.     I   am  very 
popular,  although  it  doesn't  appear. . .  very 
much ! 

Then  turning  to  other  questions : 

—  How  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  the  faces 
of  those  who  don't  like  you...    there   are 
many. 

-  How  do  you  make  out  that  there  are 
many? 

-  Oh,  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe.     I'm  not  talk- 
ing of  Paris.     In  the  three  months  which 
we  spend  in  Paris  I  never  know  what  you 
are  doing,  nor  if  anybody  loves  you  or  does 
not  love  you...  whereas  here  it's  very  differ- 
ent.    I  see  what  is  going  on. 

—  And  what  do  you  see? 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  127 

-  That,  except  a  few  friends,  everybody 
hates  you. 

—  What  have  I  done? 

—  All  that  is   necessary  for  that. . .  you 
live  alone,  and  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  this  is 
not  to  be  forgiven. . .  elsewhere  neither ! 

—  But  I  don't  live  alone ! 

—  Yes  !  You  say  zut  to  calls,  to  dinners, 
to    clubs,    to    balls,    to    matinees,    to   the 
' '  salutes  ' '  of  the  Fathers,   to  garden  par- 
ties ! . . .    Zut  to  the   evening   receptions  of 
Mme.  de  Bassigny !    Zut  to  all  that  bothers 
you  ! . . .     and   you    are    right. . .    only    you 
mustn't  think  that  is  the  way  to  make  the 
fools  like  you. 

-  Yes. . .  I  am  a  bear. . .  I  am  wrong. 

—  Why   wrong?     Why   do    you    care... 
especially  now  that  whatever  you  do  people 
will  adore  you  and  ask  your  hand  in  mar- 
riage !     It  isn't  a  secret,  is  it? 

-What? 

-  Your  legacy? 

-  No,  I  am  not  going  to  yell  it  on  the 
housetops,   but  I  am   not   sorry  if   people 
know  it. 


128  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  That's  strange  —  said  Darling,  in  sur- 
prise --  you  are  always  so  indiiferent  about 
the  effect  that  you  may  produce.     Why  do 
you  wish  people  to  know  that  you  are  rich? 

-  Because  I  do  not  want  them  to  think 
when  they  see  me  spend  a  great  deal   of 
money  for  my  election  that  I  am  supported 
Iby  a  committee.     That  method  in  politics  of 
using  the  money  of  others  is  disgusting  to  me. 

-  I  don't  see  what  committee  could  sup- 
port you,  since  your  ideas  are  independent 
of  all  party  programmes. 

-  It's  true...  but  people  would  say  it  all 
the  same. 

—  Anyhow,  I  shall  have  much  fun  this 
morning.     What  time  is  it? 

Uncle  Marc  looked  at  his  watch : 

-  A  quarter  to  nine. 

—  Then  I  have  time. 
She  called  for  Jean. 

The  old  coachman  appeared  at  the  stable 
door. 

-  Dress  quickly. . .  we  are  going  out  at 
once ! . . .  I  have  to  be  at  the  Place  des  Giron- 
dins  in  ten  minutes. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  129 

The  chambermaid  passed  through  the 
yard  and  Coryse  shouted  at  her : 

-  Is  Madame  la  Marquise  in? 

-  Yes,  mademoiselle. 

-  Then  all  is  well !     I  was  afraid  that  she 
might  be  there  already. 

And  kissing  her  handv  to  Uncle  Marc,  she 
disappeared,  laughing. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  Darling  rang 
the  bell  at  the  gate  of  the  Jesuit  house. 

-  I  am  not  mistaken  in  thinking  that 
this  is  the  hour  when  Father  Ragon  says 
his  mass,  am  I?  —  she  asked  of  the  brother 
gatekeeper. 

-  Yes...  it's  his  mass...  but  it's  finished 
in  a  moment ! 

Instead  of  going  into  the  chapel,  Coryse 
remained  in  the  garden.  She  walked  up 
and  down,  supple  in  her  gown  of  pale  pink 
linen;  her  joyful  face  hidden  in  a  hat  of 
Neapolitan  straw  covered  with  roses,  and 
watching  the  door  of  the  little  church,  she 
thought,  joyfully: 

—  He  will  go  into  the  sacristy...  but  as 


130  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

there  is  no  other  exit  he  will  have  to  pass 
by  here.  I  can't  miss  him.  In  the  mean- 
while all  these  ladies  will  arrive.  And  I'll 
place  my  little  bit  of  news  in  the  lot. . .  how 
amusing  it  will  be ! 

Forgetting  entirely  where  she  was,  she 
danced  a  step  or  two,  before  the  profound 
stupefaction  of  the  brother  gatekeeper. 
Even  Jean,  who  knew  Darling's  ways,  was 
surprised  at  this  exhibition  of  gaiety.  He 
asked  in  astonishment : 

—  What   is    the   matter  with   you   this 
morning,  Miss  Coryse? 

She  stopped,  with  one  foot  in  the  air,  and 
replied  laughing : 

—  I  will  tell  you  on  the  way  home.     In 
the  meanwhile  you  may  sleep  on  the  bench, 
if  you  wish  ...  only  try  to  assume  a  more 
graceful  pose  than  yesterday. 

The  door  of  the  chapel  was  shut  with  a 
noise  that  made  Coryse 's  head  turn,  and  she 
saw  little  Barfleur  coming  out  of  the 
church.  He  wore  a  blue  jacket  infinitely 
short  and  narrow  and  trousers  of  large 
checks  of  many  shades.  The  cravat,  which 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  131 

was  enormous,  almost  hid  the  collar  of  his 
shirt.  In  this  costume  he  appeared  to  Dar- 
ling more  insignificant  than  ever.  He  was 
not  ugly,  and  looked  distinguished  enough 
in  spite  of  his  smallness  of  stature  and  of 
his  clothes  made  in  the  fashion  of  to-mor- 
row. The  girl  walked  toward  him,  pre- 
pared to  say  good  morning  to  him.  But 
seeing  that  she  was  alone  he  bowed  without 
stopping,  with  extreme  precision,  and  took 
a  position  in  front  of  the  church  waiting 
for  people  coming  from  the  mass. 

—  He  is  waiting  for  Mme.  Delorme  — 
thought  Darling,  who  for  some  time  had 
suspected  that  Mme.  Delorme,  the  very 
pretty  wife  of  a  lawyer  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe, 
found  little  Barfleur  agreeable. 

Mme.  Delorme  appeared  a  moment  later. 
The  young  man  approached  her  with  a  sur- 
prised air,  as  if  he  never  expected  to  meet 
her  there.  Darling  said  to  herself : 

-The  mass  is  not  yet  finished  ...  they 
went  out  before  everybody,  so  that  they 
could  talk  to  each  other. 

And,  seeing  the  pretty  woman  bend  her 


132  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

flexible  waist  to  look  at  the  little  being  who 
came  to  her  shoulder,  she  thought : 

-  How  odd  it  is,  anyway !  M.  Delorme 
looks  a  hundred  times  better!...  what  c:n 
please  her  in  that  thing?  Little  Barfleur 
has  neither  wit,  nor  kindness,  nor  gentle- 
ness ...  he  is  homely  and  silly  ...  He  has 
only  the  prestige  of  his  parchments  . . .  Ah  ! 
Mme.  Delorme  is  going  ...  he  will  meet  her 
outside  ...  and  they'll  talk  in  the  park  ... 
as  if  they  had  met  by  chance ! 

She  followed  with  her  eyes  the  young 
woman  who  walked,  balancing  her  beautiful 
and  fine  waist,  and  said  to  herself : 

—  It's  agreeable  to  be  beautiful !  I  wish 
I  were  beautiful ! 

Mme.  de  Bray  had  so  often  repeated 
to  Coryse  that  she  was  homely  and  not 
graceful  that,  sincerely,  the  girl  believed 
it. 

A  murmur  of  voices  interrupted  her  re- 
flections. Mme.  de  Bassigny  was  coming 
out  of  the  chapel,  escorted  by  two  or  three 
women  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  who  habitually 
paid  court  to  her. 


A    GALLIC    GIEL.  133 

—  Now  —  thought  Coryse  —  now  is  the 
time  to  throw  my  bomb ! 

And  she  walked  slowly  towards  the 
group,  her  head  lowered,  apparently  pro- 
foundly absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  a 
shell,  which  she  rolled  with  the  end  of  her 
foot. 

—  Ah. . .  here  is  Miss  Darling  —  exclaimed 
Mme.   de  Bassigny.  —  You  are  well,  Miss 
Darling? 

—  Very  well  Madam  —  replied  Coryse, 
who  saw  at  once  that  they  were  looking  at 
her  attentively. 

Curiosity  was  vividly  excited  by  the  story 
of  M.  d'Aubieres's  demand,  his  refusal,  and 
his  sudden  departure  at  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  in  a  cab  with  one  box.  On  the 
way  to  church,  Mme.  de  Bassigny  had  told 
the  story  to  her  friends,  much  surprised 
that  ' '  this  little  penniless  girl  should  have 
refused  a  Due  with  £25,000  a  year." 

They  were  jealous  of   the  little  girl,  and 

they   reproached   her   for    having  had    an 

offer  of  marriage,  and  for  having  refused  it. 

-  How  can  I  slip  in  Uncle  Marc's  legacy? 


134  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


-  Darling  was  repeating  to  herself  while 
the  Colonel's  wife  stared  at  her.  -  'Tisn't 
easy !  It  must  have  an  air  of  coming  natur- 
ally. 

-  I   am   enchanted   to   meet   you,    Miss 
Coryse  —  said  Mme.  de  Bassigny,  with  an 
amiable  air,  -  -  for  I    wish   to  ask  you  to 
transmit  to  your  mother  an  invitation  which 
I  was  to  address  to  her.     I  want  to  ask  her 
to  dine  with  us  in  a  fortnight,  Thursday, 
you  and  M.  de  Bray...  and  also  M.  Marc,  if 
he  consents...  but  I  cannot  hope  that  he  will 
do  us  this  honor. 

Darling  jumped  at  the  opportunity  which 
presented  itself,  and  looking  attentively  at 
Mme.  de  Bassigny,  in  order  to  follow  the 
least  movements  of  her  physiognomy,  she 
replied  in  a  clear  voice : 

-  My   uncle   seldom    dines   away    from 
home...  but  in  any  case  he  will  not  be  here 
in  a  fortnight.     He  is  going  away. 

-  With  theDucd'Aubieres?  — wickedly 
asked  the  Colonel's  wife. 

Darling  looked  as  if  she  did  not  under- 
stand, and  without  a  sign  of  emotion : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  135 

-No...     alone...    His   aunt    Criswell  is 
dead...  and... 

-  Ah  !...  she  died  at  Pau  probably  —  in- 
terrupted Mme.  de  Bassigny. 

And  turning  to  one  of  the  women  who  ac- 
companied her  she  suggested : 

-  You  wish  to  buy  a  castle?     Crisville  is 

* 

certainly  to  be  placed  on  sale.    It's  too  high 
up  for  a  hospital  or  an  orphanage. 

At  Pont-sur-Sarthe  everybody  believed  so 
firmly  that  Mme.  de  Crisville  would  leave 
her  fortune  to  charitable  institutions  that 
the  Colonel's  wife  had  not  a  doubt  in  her 
mind 

-  No  —  said     Darling,     innocently  -  -  I 
do  not  think  that  my  uncle  will  sell  Cris- 
ville.    I  think  he'll  live  in  it,  on  the  con- 
trary. 

And,  negligently: 

-  He  inherits  everything. 

—  He...  what?...  he...  M.  de  Bray? — 
stuttered  Mme.  de  Bassigny.  -  -  But  she 
leaves  at  least  five  or  six  millions — your 
aunt. . . 

-  She  isn't  my  aunt...  but  she  leaves  a 


136  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

great  deal  more  than  that !  -  -  rectified  Dar- 
ling, with  great  audacity,  although  totally 
ignorant  of  the  amount  of  the  legacy. 

-  More  than  that !  -  -  repeated  Mme.  de 
Bassigny,  astounded  and  vexed. 

As  they  were  going  out  of  the  chapel  she 
said  farewell  to  Coryse,  and  quickly  went 
to  meet  the  newcomers,  anxious  to  tell  the 
news  which  would  annoy  others  as  much  as 
it  annoyed  her.  From  a  distance  Darling 
could  see  faces  darken  as  she  talked. 

-  They  are  dumbfounded  —  she  thought 
-  I  did  well  to  come. 

Suddenly  she  rushed  to  the  chapel.  She 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Father  Eagon,  ad- 
vancing with  his  harmonious  and  regular 
step. 

-  I  mustn't  let  anybody  pick  him  up ! 
She  went  near  him  quickly,  asking  with 

a  polite  air : 

-  Will  you  permit  me  to  say  a  word  to 
you? 

And  as  the  Jesuit  glanced  anxiously  at 
those  who,  like  her,  seemed  to  be  waiting 
for  him,  she  affirmed  : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  137 

— » —  — 

-  Oh,  it  won't  be    long !     Yesterday  I 
talked  a  great  deal  too  much. 

-  No,  my  child,  on  the  contrary.     You 
surprised  and  interested  me. 

-  You  are  very  good,  but  I  know  I  was 
wrong  to  talk  of  my  uncle  and  of  his  politics, 
and   I  wish  to   ask   you  not  to   speak  of 
it  to   mother,    who   will   come   to   see  you 
to-day. 

-  I   assure    you  —  said    Father   Ragon, 
drily  -  -  that  you  infinitely  exaggerate  the 
importance  of  your  conversation. 

-Not  at  all!  I  told  you...  or  almost 
told  you...  that  my  uncle  would  not  run 
against  M.  de  Bernay,  because  he  had  no 
money. 

—  Yes...  well? 

-  Well,   he  will    run,   because  he    has 
money. 

-  Ah !  --  said  the  Jesuit,  annoyed. 
And  forgetting  the  precepts  of  discretion 

and  of  prudence,  which  habitually  guided 
his  most  indifferent  acts,  he  asked  squarely : 

-  How  has  he  money? 
Darling  replied : 


138  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  By  being  the  only  heir  to  his  Aunt 
Crisville,  who  died  yesterday. 

Father  Ragon  looked  stupid,  his  mouth 
half  open.  Old  Mme.  de  Crisville  was  one 
of  his  penitents,  and  he  had  rehearsed  to  her 
a  testament  wherein  the  Jesuits  were  not 
forgotten.  And  this  old  woman  had  died 
far  from  his  will,  neglecting  to  keep  the 
promises  which  he  had  obtained  with  much 
pains,  and  left  her  fortune  to  whom...  to  a 
socialist,  honest  and  already  at  his  ease  ;  to 
a  dangerous  man  whom,  unconsciously,  she 
armed  for  a  struggle  against  all  that  she 
should  have  respected  and  sustained  ! 

At  last  he  asked,  talking  to  himself  rather 
than  to  Darling,  who  with  her  eyes  devoured 
him  joyously : 

-It  is  an  enormons  fortune? 

-  Enormous !  —  repeated  the  girL 
-It's  half  of  the  Department. 

Like  an  echo  she  replied : 
-Half  of  the  Department...  at  least! 

With  rapid  intuition  the  Jesuit  had  the 
idea  that  perhaps  Coryse  was  making  fun  of 
him,  but  when  he  lowered  his  look  he  found 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  139 

her  at  Ms  feet,  smiling,  in  indifferent  pose, 
which  reassured  him.  And  he  said  to  him- 
self suddenly  that  the  Darling  whom  nobody 
had  ever  deigned  to  regard  with  the  least 
attention  would  probably  become  an  heiress. 
The  Vicomte  de  Bray's  affection  for  her  was 
known  to  be  profound  at  JPont-sur-Sarthe. 
Everybody  knew  that  he  liked  her  as  if  she 
had  been  his  daughter.  Assuming  a  pater- 
nal tone,  Father  Ragon  said  to  Coryse  : 

-  I  am   happy,    entirely  happy,  at   the 
happiness  that  God  sends  you. . .  for  I  see  in 
this  really  the  hand  of  God!     Yesterday, 
through  an  excess  of  delicacy,  through  a 
fear  that  you  were  not  saintly  enough  to  be 
his  wife,  you  declined  the  Due  d'Aubieres, 
who   was   walling    to    accept   you   without 
money.     To -day  the  Lord  rewards  your  be- 
havior by  placing  you  in  a  position  where 
you   may   choose    according  to   your  own 
heart. . . 

-  But  -  -  said   Darling,  who   could   not 
guess  the  Jesuit's  motive — I  do  not   see 
why  I  will  be  better  able  to  choose  accord- 
ing to  my  heart. . .  admitting  that  my  heart 


140  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

wants  to  choose  anything. . .  simply  because 
my  uncle  inherits  from  his  aunt. 

-  It  is  very  clear,  however  —  murmured 
Father  Ragon,  talking  to  himself  as  much 
as  to  Coryse,  -  -  that  the  Yicomte  de  Bray 
will  give  a  fine  dowry  to  the  child  whom  he 
considers  almost  as  his  own. 

She  laughed. 

—Precisely.  You  think  that  I  have  now 
become  a  good  catch.  And  I  who  was  say- 
ing to  myself  that  M.  d' Aubieres's  offer  had 
increased  my  value !  Yes,  I  notice  that 
since  then  people  look  at  me  with  respectful 
curiosity.  What  will  it  be  now,  for 
heavens  sake?  Honors,  money...  I'll  be 
changed. 

While  she  was  talking,  the  Jesuit,  who 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  little  Barfleur  still 
planted  under  a  tree,  exchanged  with  him 
affectionate  signals. 

-  It  is   Hugues   de   Barfleur  —  he   said 
suddenly,  showing  the  young  man  to  Dar- 
ling, —  one  of  my  former  pupils. 

She  replied  without  enthusiasm  : 
—  I  know...  I  know  him. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  141 

-  He   is   one  of   our   faithful  people  - 
continued  Father  Ragon.  -  -  He  comes  here 
every  day  to  hear  early  mass.     His  soul  is 
a  beautiful  one.     He  does  nothing  that  is 
not  agreeable  to  God. 

-  I  do  not  know  —  exclaimed  the  girl  in 
spite   of   herself  -  -  if  it  is^  so  agreeable  to 
God,  as  you  say,  that  M.  de  Barfleur  should 
come  here  to  flirt  with  Mme.  Delorme. 

The  Jesuit  made  a  gesture  of  indignant 
protest  and  of  sincere  surprise.  He  had  not 
suspected  anything,  but  the  girl's  reflection 
placed  under  a  new  light  a  thousand  details 
which  had  not  occurred  to  him  until  now. 
Anxious  to  avert  suspicion  and  to  serve  his 
pupil,  he  replied  in  his  most  insinuating 
voice : 

-  In  the  mouth  of  a  young  girl  such  re- 
marks are  misplaced.     You  lack  perspica- 
city, my  child*     Hugues  de  Barfleur  could 
not  be  preoccupied  by  the  person  whom  you 
say.     Not  only  his  principles  protect  him 
from  such  temptations,  but  I  know  that  he 
is  preoccupied  by  somebody  else. 

—  Ah  —  said  Coryse. 


142  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  Yes,  the  poor  boy  has  lost  his  heart. 
He  loves  a  young  girl  who  has  not  until  now 
paid  the  slighest  attention  to  him. 

-  A  young  girl  —  asked  Darling,  asking 
herself  who  it  might  be  —  I  have  no  idea 
who  the  girl  is. 

But,  suddenly  illuminated,  she  asked  in 
a  burst  of  laughter : 

—  Me,  perhaps...  oh !   that's  a  good  one. 
And,  contemplating  the  Jesuit  with  ad- 
miration : 

-  Well,   you   may  flatter  yourself   that 
you  never  lose  a  moment's  time. 

Father  Ragon  looked  at  her  with  smiling 
lips,  but  harsh  eyes.  Then  she  excused 
herself : 

-  I  beg  your  pardon  to  laugh  like  that. . . 
but  it's  so  funny.     In  that  way  the  money 
which    will   harm   M.    de   Bernay  will    at 
least    be    of    some    advantage    to    M.    de 
Barfleur.     It  won't  go   out   of  the  house. 
Oh!  ....  There's  no  denying  it,  it's  magnifi- 
cently done ! 

—  Mademoiselle   d'Avesnes   -   -   declared 
the  Jesuit  in    a  cutting  voice  —  when  she 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  143 

says  that  you  are  badly  brought  up,  your 
mother  is  right. . . 

—  Right  to  think  it. . .  but  not  to  say  it ! 
-  replied  softly  Darling. 

Bowing  her  leave  to  the  Father,  she 
sought  for  old  Jean.  He  was  immovable 
on  his  bench.  Mechanically  she  rounded 

«. 

her  lips,  but  stopping  in  fright,  thought : 

-  Oh...  I  almost  whistled  for  him,  as  I 
often  do...  what  a  scene  that  would  have 
made ! 

In  coming  out  of  the  Jesuit's  house  she 
almost  ran,  forgetting  the  servant,  who  pain- 
fully extended  his  old  legs  behind  her. 
She  was  anxious  to  tell  the  news  to  the 
Abbe  Chatel,  certain  that  it  would  please 
him. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Palais  Square  a  flower 
woman  was  stationed.  Darling  bought 
roses  and  went  to  the  presbytery  of  Saint- 
Marcien. 

If  the  presbytery  of  the  cathedral  was  not 
magnificent,  that  of  Saint-Marcien  was  piti- 
ful. A  little  hut,  backing  on  the  old  basilica, 
in  a  dark  and  dirty  alley.  At  the  left  of 


144  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

the  hut  a  miserable  little  garden.  The 
Abbe  Chatel,  who  adored  flowers,  had 
known  how  to  transform  into  an  odoriferous 
basket  the  poor  little  corner  of  bad  soil. 

The  servant  had  gone  to  market  It  was 
the  Abbe  who  opened  the  door  to  Coryse. 
He  held  in  one  hand  a  jelly  pot  —  at  that 
instant  filled  with  glue  —  and  in  the  other 
hand  an  enormous  disheveled  brush. 

-  I  beg  your  pardon  for  receiving  you  in 
this  way,  -  -  he  exclaimed  to  Darling,  who 
was  saluting  him  -  -  but  I  was  papering  the 
parlor. 

And  he  showed  thin  strips  that  the  damp- 
ness had  detached  from  the  wall. 

The  furniture  was  brief.  Six  cane-seated 
chairs.  An  old  arm-chair  without  a  cushion. 
An  admirable  wooden  clock,  elegant  and 
rare,  and  a  statue  of  the  Holy  Virgin  placed 
on  the  wall,  on  a  pedestal  surmounted  by  a 
vase. 

-  I  have  brought  roses  to  you  for  your 
Virgin  —  said  Darling,  putting  the  flowers 
in  the  vase  —  but  you  must  get  water  for 
them  quickly. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  145 

-  Yes...  in  a  moment. 

-No...  at  once.  In  this  heat  it  would 
be  barbarous  to  make  them  wait.  And  you 
may  be  sure  that  the  Holy  Virgin  doesn't 
like  anything  to  suffer  for  her,  does  she? 

-  It's  true  —  said  the  priest  obediently. 
He  took  the  vase  to  a  faucet  in  the  garden. 

Coryse  said  to  herself : 

-  He  isn't  stylish.     With  his  good  red 
face  under  his  white  hair,  he  looks  a  little 
like  a  tomato  in  cotton !     But  he   pleases 
me  thus  because  his  mind  is  beautiful.      In- 
stead of  trying  to  down  the  friends  of  poor 
people  and  to  get  rich  wives  for  little  dudes 
who  have  squandered  all  their  money,  he  is 
preoccupied  by  good  works.     There's  a  man 
who  knows  nothing  about  scandals  and  in- 
trigues and  flirtations,  and  all  the  rest ! 

And  as  the  Abbe  returned,  carrying  care- 
fully the  vase,  which  was  too  full  and  made 
rivulets  on  his  cassock,  she  shouted  at  him 
joyfully : 

-  Monsieur  1' Abbe,  I  am  very  happy ! 

-  Ah  —  he   said     with    gladness  —  not 
like  yesterday,  then. 


146  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

He  took  the  roses  and  with  his  awkward 
hands  arranged  them  in  the  vase  with  in- 
finite care.  When  this  was  done,  he  sat 
opposite  Coryse. 

-  Monsieur  TAbbe...  since  this  morning 
Uncle  Marc  is  very,  very  rich ! 

-  How  did  it  happen,  my  child? 

-  Oh,  he  didn't  stop  a   stage-coach,    as 
you  might  think.     He  inherited  the  money 
from  his  aunt. 

-  Is  she  dead? 

-  ...  turally,  Monsieur  1'Abbe. 

-  Oh,  the  poor  woman,  she  was  so  gen- 
erous, so  good  to  the  unfortunate. 

-  Uncle  Marc  will  be  as  good  as  she  was. 

—  May  God  hear  you,  my  child ! 

-  Well  —  she  said  discontentedly  —  you 
look  as  if  you  doubted  it. 

-I  don't  doubt  it...  no...  but  it  would 
not  be  surprising  if  M.  Marc  were  less  pre- 
occupied than  was  his  aunt  by  heavenly 
things.  He  is  so  young... 

-  Young !  —  exclaimed  Coryse,  in  aston- 
ishment -  -  Young,  Uncle  Marc? 

—  No...  but  he  isn't  old. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  147 

-  I  don't  say  that  he  is  crumbling...  but 
he  isn't  young  either. . .  since  he  is  only  three 
years  younger  than  M.  d'Aubieres,  who  is 
old. 

—  And  how  about  him,  my  child  ? 

-Oh, --said  Coryse  with  a  sigh --He 
went  away  this  morningj 

-  Went  away? 

—  Not    forever. . .    he    will    come    back. 
Anyway,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  if  I  had  known 
that  you  wouldn't  be  warmer  than  this...  I 
wouldn't  have  dragged  my  poor  old  Jean 
here  in   this  heat.     I  would  let  you  have 
learned  the  thing  by  yourself. 

-  But,  my  child,  you  misunderstand  me. 
I  am  happy,  sincerely  happy  for  your  uncle, 
and  also  for  the  joy  that  it  gives  you. 

—All  right  then. . .  I  am  going.  It  will  be 
noon  in  a  moment. 

As  Darling  returned  home  under  the  ar- 
dent sun,  the  Abbe  Chatel  murmured,  while 
arranging  his  roses  at  the  feet  of  the  little 
Holy  Virgin  in  the  parlor : 

-  My  God,  protect  this  child  who  loves 
you.     My  God,  give  her  happiness... 


VIII. 


—  You  know  —  said  Darling  to  Uncle 
Marc,  when  he  returned  after  fifteen  days  of 
absence  —  everybody  is  against  you  . . .  your 
letter  to  your  electors  has  revolutionized 
Pont-sur-Sarthe  ...  Oh,  what  faces  they 
will  make  at  you ! 

-  That  is  indifferent  to  me. 

-  Yes  ...  I  know  ...  but  I  don't  like  to 
hear  everybody  go  for  you  as  everybody 
does  ...  I  am  sick  of  it ! 

-  Who  is  everybody  ? 

-  The  habitues  of  the  house  ...  ail  the 
old  nuisances  ...  I  don't  know  why  I  call 
them  old,  the  young  ones  are  as  much  a 
nuisance  . . .  and  mother ! . . .  Day  before  yes- 
terday she   came   back   in   such    a    state! 
She  had  read  your  placard  on  the  walls. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  149 

—  What  did  she  say? 

-  She  made   a   scene  ...  Oh,    a   true,    a 
beautiful  scene ! 

—  More  beautiful  than  the  ordinary  ones? 

—  Much  more ! 

—  Poor  Pierre  —  said  the  vicomte,  laugh- 
ing- 

—  How  wicked  you  are  to  laugh.     He  is 

so  good. 

—  Yes,    he   is   good !     If   I   were  in  his 
place. . . 

-And  I!... 
She  thought  a  moment,  and  concluded : 

-  This  proves  that  he  is  better  than  we 
are ! 

-  Tell  me,  Darling  —  asked  Uncle  Marc  - 
what  gentle  little   life  I  am  to  lead  here 
under  these  conditions?... 

-  What  conditions? 

-  You  say  that  your  mother  is  furious 
against  me... 

—  Oh,  as  for  that ! 

-  Well,  then,  she  is  going  to  treat  me 
like  a  simple  negro... 

—  Oh  no. 


150  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


—  Oh,  yes,  as  she  did  it  before. . . 

-  Yes,    but    she   has    to   consider   your 
boodle ! 

—  What  do  you  say? 

—  I  say  that  if  your  election  vexes  her, 
your  boodle   enchants   her  ...  she   respects 
money,  you  know ! 

-Oh! 

-  There  isn't  any  oh  !  about  it. 
After  a  silence,  she  asked  : 

-  You  have  finished  your  affairs? 

—  Almost. 

—  And  you  are  rich  ? 

-  Very. 

-  So  much  the  better !     M.  de  Bernay  is 
moving  a  great  deal...  you  must  beware  of 
him  ...  because  Charlie  will  not  pass. 

-  How  do  you  know? 

—  I  was  told  so. 

-  By  whom  ? 

-  The  workingmen  at  the  furnace. 
Uncle  Marc  laughed. 

-  So  you  talk  with  the  workingmen  at 
the  furnace?     Poor  Aubieres  is  right,  you 
are  really  a  queer  little  girl ! 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  151 

-  So  you  saw  M.  d'Aubieres? 

—  Yes. 

-  Will  he  come  back  soon? 

-  He  will  come  for  the  races. 

The  breakfast  bell  rang.  Mme.  de  Bray 
entered  like  a  whirlwind.  With  a  smile 
split  to  her  ears,  she  almost  ran  to  her 
brother-in-law. 

-  My    dear    Marc...  I   have  just   heard 
that  you  have  returned... 

And  without  giving  him  the  time  to  re- 

piy; 

—  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again...  we  miss 
you  so  much  when  you  are  not  here...  don't 
we,  Darling? 

The  marquise  was  never  amiable  with  her 
brother-in-law,  and  she  never  called  her 
daughter  Darling,  except  when  she  was 
posing  for  tenderness  before  a  stranger. 
Marc  looked  at  her  in  surprise,  and  lowered 
his  eyes  at  once  when  he  saw  the  queer  face 
that  Coryse  made  behind  her  mother's 
back. 

-  Did  you  see  Pierre?  —  asked  Mme.  de 
Bray. 


152  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  Yes...  I  saw  him... 
She  asked,  smilingly : 

-  Did  he  warn  you  of  the  terrible  effect 
produced  by  your  letter  on  your  electors? 

—  No! 

-  Well,  my  poor  Marc,  you  have  no  idea 
of  the  scandal — of  the  disagreeable  scandal— 
which  it  has  caused  around  your  name. 

-  As  that    name   is   also   yours,   I    beg 
your  pardon. . . 

-  Pshaw ! . . .  everything  is   fair    in  war. 
I  am  quite  reconciled  to  it   now...  To   be 
frank,   at  the   beginning  I  was  absolutely 
stupefied. 

And,  interpellating  her  husband,  who  was 
entering  the  room : 

-  Is  it  not  true  that  I  am  at  present  in- 
different to  the  scandal  caused  by  Marc's 
posters. . .  I  have  made  up  my  mind  bravely. 

-  That  is  at  least  what  you  said  —  re- 
plied M.  de  Bray. 

As  they  went  into  the  dining-room,  Dar- 
ling whispered  in  Uncle  Marc's  ear : 

-Fine  weather,  eh?...  I  told  you...  the 
boodle ! 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  153 


-  Coryse  —  said     the    marquise,    while 
taking  her  seat  -  -  I  do  not  know  if  I  remem- 
bered to  tell  yon  that  we  are  to  dine  Satur- 
day at  the  Barfieur's. 

-  No...  but  you  never  tell  me  when  you 
and  father  are  to  dine  out. 

-  You  are  invited... 

-  That  doesn't  matter...  since  I  am  not 
going ! 

-Why   should  you   not  go?  -  -  asked 
Mine,  de  Bray. 

-  Because  I  never  go  to  those  dinners. . . 
and  it  is  understood  that  I  am  not  to  be 
brought  into  society  until  the  winter  follow- 
ing my  eighteenth  year...   that  is  in  two 
years. 

-  But  that  is  not  going  into  society. . . 
-But  it  is!...    you   have   to   dress...  to 

show  yourself. . .  to  be  bothered. . .  that's  what 
I  call  going  into  society. 

-  I  have  accepted  your  invitation. 

-  Shouldn't...  since  you  have  promised 
me  that  until  my  eighteenth  year  I  should 
never  be  compelled  to  do  that  sort  of  work. . . 
I  don't  see  why  I  should  dine  at  the  Bar- 


154  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

fleur's  rather  than  at  Mme.  de  Bassigny's. 
She  had  invited  me  for  to-night. 
She  added,  laughingly : 

-  Talking  to  me  personally,  in  the  garden 
of  the  Jesuits.     She  also  invited  you,  Uncle 
Marc...  although  she  said  that  she  didn't 
hope  you  would  do  her  the  honor  to  accept. 

-  This  proves  that  she  has  moments  of 
lucidity.     I  will  never  go  to  Mme.  de  Bas- 
signy's.    But   in  any  case  I  could  not  go 
to-night,  since  I  am  in  mourning. 

Darling  cast  a  laughing  look  on  her 
mother's  gown.  A  gown  of  an  undecided 
mauve  color,  so  undecided  that  one  could 
not  tell  whether  it  was  mauve  or  pink. 

-  Oh,  —  said  the  marquise  —  it  is  a  three 
months'   mourning...    and   fifteen   days   at 
least  of  the   time  have   passed...  my   dear 
Marc,  I  want  to  ask  you  if  it  would  be  disa- 
greeable to  you  to  have  a  ball  here  the  day 
of  the  races? 

—  Not  at  all...  provided  I  am  not  obliged 
to  appear  in  it. 

-  If  you  don't  appear  in  it...  it  will  look 
as  if  you  didn't  like  it. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  155 

- 1  don't  know  how  it  will  look,  but  I 
will  not  go  to  a  ball,  a  month  after  the  death 
of  an  aunt  who  left  me  her  fortune.  That 
would  be  an  evidence  not  only  of  lack  of 
heart,  but  of  absolute  lack  of  taste. 
The  marquise  replied : 

—  As  we  have  not  the  same  reasons  to  ab- 
stain. . .  and  as  I  am  anxious  to  give  this  ball 
for  Coryse... 

-  For  me  !  —  exclaimed  the  girl  in  aston- 
ishment —  for  me,  I  detest  society.     I  do 
not  know  how  to  dance !     A  ball  for  me... 
Oh,  Lord! 

-  It  is  precisely  to  teach  you  how  to  be- 
have in  society  and  to  give  you  the  taste  for 
it. 

Darling  objected : 

-  Well,  this  tale  of  a  ball  given  for  me 
won't  fool  anybody  —  everybody  knows  that 
I  don't  count  for  much  in  this  house,  and 
that  what  is  done  in  it  is  not  done  for  me ! 

-  You  are  ungrateful  and  impertinent !  - 
exclaimed  Mme.  de  Bray,  in  a  voice  which 
seemed  to  vibrate  in  her  eyebrows. 

—  No, —  replied  the  girl  quietly  —  but  I 


156  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


think  that  it  would  be   better  to  tell  the 
truth  to  Uncle  Marc  and  to  everybody. 

-  And  the  truth  is  ? 

-  The  truth  is  that  the  ball  will  be  given 
to  astound   the  natives   by  showing  them 
the  prince. 

Marc  de  Bray  asked  in  surprise : 

-  What  prince? 

-  Oh,  it's  true  —  said  Coryse  joyfully, 
that  you  do  not  know !     There  has  been  a 
prince  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe  for  eight  days  ... 
a  real  prince  . . .  not  made  of  pasteboard  . . . 
one  who  will  reign,  unless  his  papa  be  over- 
thrown ! 

-  And  he  calls  himself? 

-  Count  Axen  . . .  when   he  is  traveling. 

-  What  is  Count  Axen  doing  here? 
The  marquise  would  have  answered,  but 

Darling  did  not  give  her  the  time : 

-  Nobody   knows  . . .  they  say    that    he 
came   here   to   attend   the   parade  and  re- 
views ...  or    to    learn   French  ...  which  he 
talks  better  than  we  do. 

The  vicomte  asked : 
—  How  is  the  prince? 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  157 

-  He    is     charming  —  quickly     replied 
Mme.  de  Bray. 

Darling  said : 

-  It  depends  ...  He   is  as   high  as  your 
boot  . . .  and    black,    black !     Only    people 
call  him  Monseigneur,  and  Your  Highness. . . 
so,  you  understand,  it's  delightful ! 

-  People  talk  to  him  as  they  should  - 
interrupted  M.  de  Bray,  who  saw  a  cloud 
coming  and  tried  to  stop  all  discussion. 

—Oh,  I  think  it's  natural  —  said  Coryse  — 
and  I  talk  to  him  in  the  same  way  when  I 
reply    to    him.     Only,    there    are    people 
whom  it  amuses  and  people  whom  it  does 
not  amuse. 

And,  looking  at  her  mother,  she  added: 

-  Humility  isn't  my  forte. 

Of  the  numerous  little  sides  of  the  mar- 
quise's character,  the  one  which  most  dis- 
agreeably shocked  Coryse  was  her  arrogance 
with  the  humble  and  her  platitude  before 
the  great.  Often,  after  crushing  a  servant 
or  a  workingman  with  the  superiority  of 
her  intelligence  —  a  superiority  which  her 


158  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

daughter  refused  to  acknowledge  —  Mme. 
de  Bray  complained  of  the  stupidity  of 
those  whom  she  called  mercenaries.  Dar- 
ling, amused,  would  reply  laughingly  : 

-  If  he  had  the  qualities  that  you  want 
him  to  have,  probably  he  would  be  an  Am- 
bassador instead  of  being  a  servant ! 

Little  Coryse  thought  it  natural  that  one 
should  be  respectful  toward  princes ;  but 
she  did  not  understand  that  one  could  run 
after  occasions  to  meet  them.  She  hated 
ceremony  and  liked  to  live  alone  with  her 
equals.  And  then,  it  seemed  to  her  that 
modern  princes  having  forgotten  that  they 
are  princes,  it  is  extravagant  to  be  com- 
pelled to  make  an  effort  to  remember  that 
they  are 

Since  the  arrival  of  Count  Axen  at  Pont- 
sur-Sarthe,  the  marquise  swam  in  joy,  prodi- 
giously flattered  because  His  Highness  had 
called  on  her  His  Highness  had  been  sent 
by  M.  d'Aubieres,  who,  several  years  before 
was  a  military  attache  in  the  little  country 
over  which  his  father  reigned.  And  Mme. 
de  Bray  —  compelled  in  Paris  to  run  from 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  159 

right  to  left,  in  order  to  meet  a  few  princes 
who  never  paid  much  attention  to  her  - 
totally  weaned  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe  from 
court  formulas  and  reverence,  wherein  she 
imagined  she  excelled  -  -  had  felt  as  if 
Heaven  was  open  to  her  when  she  unsealed 
the  letter  addressed  to  her  husband,  in 
which  the  Colonel  announced  the  coming  of 
the  little  hereditary  prince 

This  time,  the  most  elegant  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  town  were  surpassed,  since 
Count  Axen  knew  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe  only 
the  four  Generals,  the  Mayor  and  the  pre- 
fect. And,  without  pity  for  Mme.  de  Bas- 
signy,  her  best  friend,  who  turned  around 
a  request  to  be  introduced,  Mme.  de  Bray 
had  said,  with  an  air  of  indifference,  "  that 
it  was  very  annoying  not  to  be  able  to  give 
a  reception  to  Monseigneur,  who  refused  to 
make  new  acquaintances." 

At  Pont-sur-Sarthe  there  are  many  grace- 
ful women,  some  of  whom  are  very  pretty. 
It  was  to  be  feared  that  the  little  prince 
might  become  unfaithful  to  the  Bray  house- 
hold. 


160  A    GALLIC    GIRL, 

He  forced  the  marquise  out  of  her  reserve. 
One  evening  he  «aid  to  M   de  Bray  : 

-  I  would  be  obliged  if  you  took  me  to  a 
ball  at  the  Barfleurs's. 

The  marquise  startled ; 
-What  ball? 

-  A  ball  on  the  day  of  the  races.     This 
evening  at  the  restaurant  I  was  told  of  it 

-  But  -  -  impetuously  exclaimed    Mine, 
de  Bray      -  There  cannot  be  a  ball  at  the 
Barfleurs's   on  that  day,   since   we  are   to 
give  one ! 

There  had  not  been  the  least  idea  of  such 
a  thing.  The  marquis  and  Darling  looked 
at  each  other,  astounded  by  that  audacity, 
but  Mme.  de  Bray  was  not  at  all  embar- 
rassed. She  continued,  addressing  her  hus- 
band : 

-  Is  it  not  true  that  we  have  chosen  that 
day  weeks  ago ! 

She  sent  her  invitations  the  next  day.  At 
least,  by  giving  herself  the  ball,  which  was 
to  "disseminate"  the  little  Highness,  she 
would  have  the  honor  to  show  that  she  had 
known  him  before  everybody  else. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  161 

Fearing  that  the  conversation  might  turn 
into  a  quarrel,  the  marquis  said : 

-  If  Darling  does  not  dine  at  the  Bar- 
fleurs's  Saturday,  they  should  be  advised- 
he  said,  addressing  his  wife  timidly. 

The. marquise  replied  in  a  cutting  tone  : 

-  She  shall  dine  at  the-Barfleurs's. 

-  I  cannot,  even  if  I  wished  —  quietly 
explained  the  girl.  -  -  I  have  no  gown. 

—  No     gown?     And     your    pompadour 
gown...  what  does  that  signify? 

—  It  signifies  that  I  had  two  years  ago  a 
so-called    evening     dress...  mousseline     de 
laine  studded  with  little  bouquets...  which 
you  designate  as  my  pompadour  gown. 

-Well,  then? 

—  "Well,  then,. as  I  have  lengthened  by 
two  heads  in  two  years,  and  my  gown  hasn't 
lengthened  as  I  have,  it  comes  to  the  calf 
of  my  leg...  and  that's  how  I  have  no  gown. 

-  It  will  be  lengthened... 

-  It  has  been  lengthened  three  times. 

-  How  is  it  that  you  haven't  anything 
to  put  on?     It's  incredible...  you  haven't 
one  gown ! 


162  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  Yes,  I  have  four  gowns... 

—  And  that's  not  enough? 

—  Can't     you     understand  —  exclaimed 
Darling,    impatiently -- that   it  isn't  with 
five  louis  a  month  for  my  toilet,  counting 
my  shoes,  my  gloves,  my  horses,  my  riding 
habits  and  everything  else. . .  that  I  can  have 
a  full  deck  of  gowns ! 

—  M.  de  Bray  intervened : 

—  Order  what  you  will...  and  send  the 
bill  to  me. 

-Thanks,    father.     I'll    order    a    little 
white  gown  for  the  prince's  ball. 

The  marquise's  voice  was  raised,  threat- 
ening and  acute : 

-  I  forbid  you  to  say  the  prince's  ball ! 
And  after  a  silence,  she  added : 

-  Then  it  is   understood   that   you  are 
coming  to  that  dinner? 

-  No  —  protested  Darling  —  no  ! 
Mme.  de  Bray  reflected  a  moment : 

-  In  that  case,  you  will  go  to  Barfleur 
while  you  are  out  on  horseback... 

-  To  do  what? 

—  To  say  yourself  to  Mme.  de  Barfleur 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  163 

that  you  cannot  dine  with  her  Saturday... 
that  you  are  dining  at  your  Aunt  de  Lau- 
nay's.  That  I  did  not  know  this  when  I 
accepted  for  you. 

-  Yes  —  replied    Coryse,    laughingly  - 
it's   understood.     I   will   tell   a   little   tale 
which  will  put  everybody  in  trouble. . .  you, 
Aunt  Mathilde,  Uncle  Albert,  in  fine,  every- 
body ! 

And  rising  from  the  table  : 

-  You  allow  me?. . .  have  to  dress. . .  and  if 
I  go  to  Barfleur  and  return  for  the  lecture, 
I  have  only  the  time  to  trot. . . 

-  Yes  —  said   the  marquise,   with   maj- 
esty —  I  allow  you  this  time  to  quit  the 
table,  but  don't  imagine  that  you  can  estab- 
lish a  precedent  from  this. 

-  But  —  exclaimed  Coryse,  archly  -  -  I 
do  not  care  to  be  at  table  till  the  end.  I 
do  not  care  to  go  over  there  and  to  return 
for  the  lecture.  It  will  be  simpler  for  me 
to  remain.  Old  Jean  could  carry  a  letter. 
Anyway  —  she  asked,  with  laughing  eyes  — 
why  do  I  go  over  there?  It  isn't  natural 
that  I  should  go. 


164  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

And,  brusquely,  she  sat  down. 

-  You  shall  go  —  ordered  the  marquise, 
becoming  irritated,  little  by  little. 

-  No...  I  had  as  lief  not  go*.,  you  must 
have    some    afterthought   in    sending    me 
there... 

She  stopped  an  instant,  and  continuing, 
said : 

-  At  the  Barfleurs's. 

-  No  —  affirmed  Mme.  de  Bray,  redden- 
ing. 

The  marquis  tried  to  pacify  matters. 

-  Why   do  you  not  go,   Darling,   since 
your  mamma  wishes  you  to  go. 

-Hum! — said  Coryse,  kicking  her 
stepfather's  leg  under  the  table  as  a  warn- 
ing. 

It  was  too  late.  The  marquise  had  heard, 
and  the  word  mamma  applied  to  her  always 
exasperated  her.  Furiously  she  addressed 
her  husband : 

-  Really  —  she  began  —  you... 

— Hum!...    hum!...    hum!...  hum!... 
sang  Darling  in  a  scale. 

The  marquise  turned  toward  her. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  165 

-  Go  out  of  the  room ! . . .  and  do  imme- 
diately what  I   have   told  you  to  do...  do 
you  hear  me? 

-  Yes  —  replied    Coryse,     folding    her 
napkin  with  affected  slowness. 

As  she  went  out  she  murmured  between 
her  little  pointed  teeth  that  anger  closed  a 
little : 

—  Oh,  if  only  M.  d'Aubieres  was  not  so 
old. 


IX. 


When  she  arrived  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
Barfleur  palace — a  Louis  XIV.  palace  of 
brick  ahd  granite — Coryse  saw  at  a  window 
the  Vicomtesse  de  Barfleur,  seated  before  a 
large  table,  and  busy  covering  preserve  pots. 
Her  work  absorbed  her  so  much  that  she 
did  not  hear  the  horses.  Darling,  who  had 
thought  at  first  of  going  near  the  window 
and  reciting  her  little  speech,  reflected  that 
perhaps  this  would  not  be  polite  enough,  and 
dismounted  when  she  was  told  that  "Mad- 
ame the  Vicomtesse  is  in." 

She  went  into  the  billiard-room  and 
waited  for  a  time  that  seemed  very  long. 
And  as  she  walked  up  and  down  the  large, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  167 

bare  room,  without  a  picture  or  a  vase  or 
a  flower,  she  was  saying  to  herself  fu- 
riously : 

-  I  wonder  if  she  is  to  cover  all  her  jelly 
pots  before  condescending  to  receive  me? 

At  last  the  servant  who  had  received  her 
appeared : 

-  If  Mademoiselle  d'Avesnes  will  come? 
I  was  looking  for  the  Yicomtesse  in  the  park 
and  she  was  in  the  parlor. 

Coryse  thought : 

No...    she  was  in  the  kitchen...  but 
probably  she  thinks  that  isn't  stylish ! 

And  she  walked  behind  the  servant, 
through  a  long  file  of  desolate  rooms. 

-  Brrr !  —  she  said,  almost  shivering  —  it 
isn't    amusing   here!     Father   Ragon   and 
Mother  Barfleur  are  mistaken  if  they  think 
that   I'll    marry    "  Two  Cents'    Worth    of 
Butter." 

The  Due  d'Aubiere's  had  asked  of  Uncle 
Marc  when  he  first  saw  little  Barfleur  near  a 
door,  at  a  ball : 

-  Who  is  this  little  man  who  is  of  the 
size  of  two  cents'  worth  of  butter. 


168  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 


And,  at  the  Brays,  and  in  other  houses, 
the  nickname  had  stayed. 

The  servant  made  Coryse  enter  in  a  small 
drawing-room  more  comfortable  than  the 
rest  of  the  palace. 

Seated  near  the  window,  her  long  thin 
waist  tightened  into  a  foulard  gown,  red 
and  studded  with  yellow  lozenges,  the  Vi- 
comtesse  seemed  to  be  reading  attentively 
her  aristocratic  newspaper.  At  once,  the 
girl  thought : 

'Tisn't  surprising  that  I  had  to  wait  so 
long. . .  the  gown  for  the  preserves  was  gray. . . 
she  went  and  slipped  herself  into  her  finest 
clothes  to  receive  me !  Oh,  my !  They  take 
a  great  deal  of  pains  for  Darling,  since  Uncle 
Marc  has  money. 

-  My  dear  child  —  said  the  Vicomtesse, 
rising  when  Coryse  entered — what  good  oc- 
casion brings  you  here? 

And,  without  giving  her  the  time  to  an- 
swer: 

-  Isn't  she  pretty  in  her  riding  habit ! 

-  Pretty ! — said   Darling,    looking   with 
astonished  eyes  on  her  long  arms,  her  long 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  169 


hands  and  her  awkward   physique  —  that 
isn't  what  they  say  at  home. 
Mme.  de  Barfleur  said  : 

-  Yes,  pretty. . .  pretty  and  charming ! 
She  pulled  the  band  of  tapestry  which 

served  as  a  bell-rope. 

-  Poor    Hugues     will  ^be     very     sorry 
if    he    misses    so    charming    a    call !      He 
went  to  look  at  his  horses...  I  will  let  him 
know. 

-  It's  useless,  Madame  —  said  Darling 
quickly — I  have  to  go.     I  have  to  attend  a 
lecture  at  four  o'clock. 

The  servant  entered. 

-  Tell  Monsieur  le  Vicomte. 

-  I  came  only  —  explained  Coryse  —  to 
tell  you  that  mother,  when  she  said  I  would 
come  Saturday,  forgot  that  I  am  to  dine  with 
my  Aunt  de  Launay0 

-  What !  -  -  exclaimed  Madame  de  Bar- 
tieur  —  we  cannot  get  along  without  you... 
you  must  fix  it  with  your  aunt...  or  I'll  fix 
it  myself. 

Darling  made  no  answer.     She  listened 
smilingly  to  the  big  bell  which  they  were 


170  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

ringing  to  call  the  young  man's  attention, 
and  she  thought : 

-  It  will  take  him  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
to  come  up  the  river. . .  and  in  five  minutes 
I'll  be  gone. 

-  I  pray  you,  my  little  Coryse  —  insisted 
the  Yicomtessee  -  -  tell  me  that  you  will 
find  a  way  to  come...   you  will  be  the  joy 
and  the  soul  of  the  dinner. 

-  I!  --  interrupted  the  child          I?  ... 
but  when  I'm  not  at  ease  I  cannot  say  three 
words ! 

Mme.  de  Barfleur  asked : 

-  Why  should  you  not  be  at  ease,  my 
dear  child? 

-  I  beg  your  pardon  —  exclaimed  quick- 
ly Darling,   who  blushed  -  -  I  made  a  mis- 
take... I  wanted  to  say  that  whenever  I  am 
not  alone,  I  am  not  at  ease,  because  I  have 
no  confidence  in  myself,  and  you  see  that  I 
am  right  not  to  trust  myself. 

-  No...  you  are  a  charming  young  girl, 
very  simple. . .  very  frank. 

-  Oh,  as  for  that ! 
And  rising  Coryse  said : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  171 


-  I  am  going. . .  I  have  to  return  home. 

-  You  can  wait  an  instant,  and  anyway 
you  must  take  lunch. 

-  I  thank  you,  Madame...  I  am  already 
late. 

The  Vicomtesse  rose,  too,  and  as  Darling, 
surprised  by  this  exaggerated  politeness, 
asked  her  not  to  disturb  herself,  she  replied  : 

-  I  want  to  see  you  on  horseback.    My 
son  says  that  you  are  adorable  on  horse- 
back ! 

-  Biff —  thought  the  girl. —  There  it  is, 
decidedly  !     They  are  all  agreed ! 

At  the  moment  when  old  Jean  led  to  the 
stoop  the  two  horses,  the  Vicomte  de  Bar- 
fleur  entered  the  courtyard.  He  took  the 
hand  which  Darling  extended  to  him,  and 
bending  respectfully,  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 
Little  accustomed  to  this  manner  of  doing 
things,  she  almost  burst  out  laughing. 
Then,  comparing  the  manners  of  the  mother 
and  son  with  what  they  had  been  to  her  fif- 
teen days  earlier,  a  great  disgust  came  to 
her,  and  she  almost  thought  aloud :  ' '  What 
horrid  types  they  are." 


172  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

When  Coryse  approached  the  tall  mare 
that  she  always  mounted,  the  Vicomte  hur- 
ried, clasping  his  two  hands  and  extending 
them  to  Darling  that  she  might  rest  her 
foot  on  them.  She  stared  at  the  frail  young 
man,  who  bent  his  miserable  little  back  and 
his  thin  neck,  surmounted  by  an  enormous 
head,  and  considering  his  thin  arms  which 
made  empty  the  gray  checked  sleeves  of  his 
English  coat,  she  said  to  herself : 

-  Sure  !  -  -  he'll  drop  me  on  the  way ! 

And  gently,  with  the  most  graceful  air 
that  she  could  give  to  her  refusal,  she  re- 
plied, pointing  to  old  Jean,  who  held  the 
two  horses : 

-No...  if  you  would  rather  hold  the 
other  horse  for  an  instant?  I  am  very  awk- 
ward. I  can  only  mount  with  Jean...  with 
you  I'd  fall. 

And  as  he  insisted : 

-  You  cannot  imagine  how  heavy  I  am... 
a  piece  of  lead ! 

She  placed  the  tip  of  her  boot  in  old 
Jean's  hand,  and  flew  to  almost  three  feet 
above  the  saddle.  Then,  bowing  to  the 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  173 

mother  and  the  son,  she  quitted,  her  supple, 
undulating  body  following  gracefully  the 
pace  of  her  mare. 

As  soon  as  she  was  out  of  the  park,  Dar- 
ling turned  into  the  forest.  She  was 
anxious  to  gallop  into  the  beautiful  green 
alleys,  and  shake  off  the  #nger  which  went 
up  to  her  head  and  her  heart.  Were  not 
they  ever  to  leave  her  alone?  It  was  only 
a  fortnight  ago  that  they  were  commanding 
her  to  marry  M.  d' Aubieres ;  now  they 
wanted  her  to  marry  little  Barfleur,  and  this 
idea  tormented  her,  not  only  because  of  the 
newr  struggle  which  she  would  have  to  bear, 
but  because  it  wounded  her  self-love.  She 
had  been  grateful  for  the  offer  of  M.  d'Au- 
bieres,  although  she  did  not  think  him 
handsome;  but  Barfleur's  offer  would  hu- 
miliate her. 

In  the  first  place,  she  knew  that  when  she 
wras  without  any  money,  Two  Cents'  Worth 
of  Butter  had  never  accorded  to  her  any 
other  attention  than  that  which  a  wrell-bred 
man  owes  to  a  young  girl  whom  he  meets 
in  his  parents'  drawing-room.  Then  she 


174  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

thought  this  fellow  badly  formed,  with  his 
enormous  mustache  and  his  thin  legs,  im- 
measurably bent  by  abuse  of  horseback 
riding.  In  her  view,  the  Due  d'Aubieres 
was  the  great  d'Aubieres,  whereas  Barfleur 
was  Little  Barfleur.  There  was  all  the 
difference. 

Healthy  and  solid,  Darling  had  an  in- 
stinctive horror  of  unhealthy  people. 

And,  following  the  wide  path  which  led 
to  the  road  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  she  thought : 

"  He  disgusts  me  !  If  he  ever  kissed  me 
as  M.  d'Aubieres  did  I'd  slap  his  face  with 
my  two  hands...  I  couldn't  do  otherwise... 
it's  very  annoying.  If  I  refuse  again 
mother  will  go  forme!  ...  the  refusal  ought 
to  come  from  the  Barfleurs. . .  Oh,  that  brute 
of  a  Father  Ragon. . .  he's  arranged  all  this  ! 
I  was  right  to  fear  the  Jesuits." 

She  stopped  before  the  road  that  the  sun 
made  white. 

"It's  atrocious  to  go  on  that  road  to 
Pont-sur-Sarthe !  I'll  take  the  little  path 
behind  the  furnaces." 

She  made  the  mare  enter  into  a  little  path 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  175 

which  almost  fell  perpendicularly  between 
the  forest  and  the  forges.  At  a  turn  in  the 
path  she  saw,  at  a  distance  of  a  hundred 
yards  under  her,  a  man  on  horseback,  talk- 
ing to  workingmen  seated  on  the  ground  by 
the  woodside. 

—Oh !  —  she  said,  turning  toward  old 
Jean  --  I  have  missed  the  lecture.  There 
the  workingmen  are  lunching.  It  is  four 
o'clock!  Hello...  this  looks  like  Count 
Axen. 

—  Yes,  Miss  Coryse,  it's  surely  Count 
Axen. 

Darling  lost  sight  of  the  group  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  soon  she  heard  distinctly  voices 
ascending  to  her : 

-  Yes  —  the  prince  was  saying  with  his 
musical  accent  —  yes,  it  is  a  very  well  made 
profession  of  faith...  and  if  I  were  a  voter  in 
this  district  I  would  not  hesitate  to  give  my 
vote  to  the  one  who  wrote  it... 

Darling  had  just  turned  on  the  road. 
-  Oh  —  she  exclaimed  —  it  is  you,  Mon- 
sei... 

She  stopped,  guessing  vaguely  that  he 


176  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

preferred   not  to   be   called  thus,    and   he 
thanked  her  with  his  eyes,  replying : 

-  Yes,  Miss,  it  is  I ! 

-  Here,  sir,  —  said  one  of  the  workmen, — 
here  is  a  young  woman  who  thinks  as  you 
do. 

—  What  is  it? —  asked  Coryse. 

-  This  gentleman  says,  as  you  do,  that  in 
our  place  he  would  vote  for  M.  de  Bray. 

—  Of  course  —  said  Darling,  convincingly 
—  unless   you   want  M.   de   Bernay   to  be 
elected. 

-  We  don't. 

—  Well,  since    you    know  that  Charlie 
won't  pass... 

—Yes,  it's  true,  but  it's  annoying  to  think 
that  M.  de  Bray  is  a  Vicomte. 

—  It's  annoying  to  him,  too  —  said  Dar- 
ling, laughing —  but  it  isn't  his  fault. 

-Then  why  does  he  sign  his  poster  "Vi- 
comte deBray." 

—  Because  it's  his  name. 

And,  looking  at  the  numerous  bottles,  the 
sausages  and  the  cheeses  on  the  grass,  Dar 
ling  asked, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  177 

-  Is  this  your  everyday  lunch? 

A  workman,  black  and  hairy,  rose,  and 
pointing  to  Count  Axen : 

-  He  is  treating. . . 
And  he  added : 

-  Because  we   kept  his  horse  while  he 
was  visiting  the  forges.  * 

Old  Jean,  red  and  perspiring,  looked  at  the 
bottles  with  a  softened  eye.  Coryse  noticed 
it,  and  indicating  him  to  one  cf  the  men : 

-  If  you  wish  to  be  very  good,  give  him 
a  glass  of  something. 

The  workman  took  a  bottle,  and  said  : 

-  If  we  didn't  do  it  before,  it's  because 
we  didn't  dare. 

Old  Jean  came : 

-  I  won't  refuse  —  he  said  --  for  I  am 
terribly  thirsty.     I  am  sure  you  are  thirsty, 
too,  Miss  Coryse. 

-  If  you  would  like  to  drink,  suggested 
the  workman  who  held  the  bottle. 

-  I'll  accept  —  said  Darling,  extending 
her  hand. 

-  Wait  a  minute...  for  you  I'll  rinse  the 
glass. 


178  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

He  went  to  the  fountain   and   returned, 
asking : 

-  Is  it  beer  or  wine  that  you  wish? 

-  Wine... 

She  extended  her  glass,  saying  in  a  clear 
voice : 

-  To  your  health. 
The  workmen  rose : 

-  We  ought  to  drink  to  the  health  of 
the  one  who  treats  us —  observed  one  of  the 
men,  designating  Count  Axen. 

-  And  I  -  -  replied  the  prince  —  propose 
the  health  of  the  candidate. 

-  That's    it —  exclaimed    Coryse,    heed- 
lessly —  to  Uncle  Marc's  health. 

One  of  the  workmen  asked : 

-  Then  you  are  M.  de  Bray's  niece? 

-  Yes —  said    Darling    looking    at    the 
prince,  who  laughed  at  her  slip. 

The  workman  said : 

-  We   know   you   well,    but   we   didn't 
know  your   name.     The   little   boys  know 
you  much  better  than  we  do  ! 

And,    turning    toward   Count   Axen,    he 
continued : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  179 

-  Since  Mademoiselle  always  has  some- 
thing for  them  in  her  pockets.     At  Christ- 
mas she  brought  a  box  of  playthings  which 
filled  her  carriage. 

His  hard  little  eyes  softened  a  little  and 
he  concluded : 

-  If  all  the  rich  werejike  Mademoiselle 
and  you,  it  would  be  much  better,  but  there 
are   people  who   do  not  want  to   have   the 
least  suspicion  that  there  is  misery  in  this 
world.     I  know  such  people. 

—  So  do  I  —  said  Darling  involuntarily, 
thinking  of  her  mother. 

Then  she  asked  of  Count  Axen  : 

—  Are  you  returning  to  Pont-sur-Sarthe? 

-  Yes,  will  you  permit  me  to  accompany 
you  an  instant? 

-  Yes. 

And  at  once  she  proposed : 

-  Only  it  would  be  better  to  take  the 
road  in  the  forest.  This  one  is  too  full  of 
rolling  stones. 

When  they  had  disappeared  under  the 
trees,  Coryse  heard  the  voice  of  the  work- 
man saying : 


180  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  I  have  an  idea  that  these  little  people 
are  engaged  to  be  married  ! 

She  turned  toward  the  prince  laughingly  : 

—  They  are  talking  of  us ! 
He  bent  courteously : 

-  I  am  sorry  that  they  are  mistaken. 

-  You    are  sorry?...    what    a   beautiful 
thing  politeness  is  ! ...  Can  you  imagine  the 
head  that  I'd  have  if  I  were  made  up  as  a 
queen ?. . .  Can  you  imagine  it  ?     Oh,  Lord ! . . . 
What  would  you  do  with  me? 

And  a  little  while  after  she  added : 

-  And  what  would  I  do  with  you? 
He  laughed : 

-  How  old  are  you,  Miss  Coryse? 

-  I  was  sixteen  in  May...  and  you,  Mon- 
seigneur? 

-  I'll  be  twenty-four  in  a  week. 
Then,  scrupulously,  he  asked  : 

—  Does  the  marquise  allow  you  to  go  out 
with  a  young  man? 

—  Oh,  no. 

-  Well,  then. 

-  You ! . . .  Oh,  you  are  a  sovereign. . .  a  sov- 
ereign is  not  a  young  man...  he  don't  count. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  181 

She  blushed,  and  began  again : 

-  That  is...  I  mean,  he  counts  too  much. . . 
to  count. 

And,    changing     the    conversation,    she 
asked : 

-  Aren't  you  afraid  to  be  captured  and 
led  to  the  frontier  when  you,  a  foreigner, 
go  into  reactionary  politics  as  you  do? 

-  Oh,  my  reactionary  politics  is  an  ano- 
dyne.    It  consists  in  telling  workmen  that 
if  I  were  they  I  would  vote  for  your  uncle. 

—  If  I  were  in  your  place  I  would   be 
careful.     I  wish  M.  d'Aubieres  was  here, 
he  would  tell  you  what  you  could  do  and 
what  you  could  not  do...  Because  you  seem 
to  me  to  be  very  young. . . 

—  Do   you  take  an   interest  in  me?  — 
asked  the  prince,  laughing  cordially. 

-  Interest...  without  interest. 

-  That's  something.     Well,  see  how  one 
may   be    mistaken.     I  would   have   sw^orn 
that  I  was  displeasing  to  you. 

-  And    you  were  —  exclaimed    Coryse, 
frankly  —  until  a  moment  ago.     Now  you 
seem  to  me  to  be  a  good  fellow. 


182  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  Then  we  are  friends? 

—  Yes. 

And,  correcting  herself: 

—  Yes,  monseigneur. . .  I   beg   your  par- 
don... I  do  not  know  how  to  talk  to  you. 

-Why  not? 

-  Because   I    do   not    say    Monseigneur 
often  enough,  and  I  never  say  Your  High- 
ness. 

-  Don't  bother  about   that.     And   now 
that  we  are  friends,  will  you  tell  me  why 
we  were  not  friends  before...  that  is  you, 
for  I  had  not  the  same  repulsion,  I  assure 
you. 

-  Yes,  I  will  tell  you.     The  reason  is, 
that  instinctively  I  do  not  like  strangers... 
and  I  detest  Protestants...  and  as  you  are 
both,  you  understand. 

—  I  understand. . .  and  what  do  you  re- 
proach strangers  for? 

-  For  not  being  Frenchmen. 

-  And  Protestants? 

-  A  lot  of  things...  they  are  hypocrites... 
and  miserly!     Naturally,  there  are  excep- 
tions. . . 


A     GALLIC    GIRL.  183 

-  Naturally. . .  like  me. 
She  laughed. 

-Not  you  only...  others...  but  I  am  talk- 
ing of  the  mass  of  Protestants...  of  the  Pro- 
testants of  France,  the  only  ones  that  I 
know. 

- 1,  seeing  the  sort  of  repulsion  that  I 
inspired  in  you,  had  imagined  that  you  took 
me  for  a  spy. 

-Oh,  Monseigneur!  I  don't  believe  in 
spies...  because  one  meets  them  often  where 
they  are  not  at  all...  it's  like  mad  dogs  that 
policemen  kill  to  get  a  reward. . .  and  who 
are  no  madder  than  I  am. 

And,  returning  to  the  subject  that  inter- 
ested her,  Darling  declared : 

-Anyhow...  it's  very  good  of  you  to 
work  for  Uncle  Marc's  election. 

—  You  need  not  be  grateful  to  me  for 
that.  The  conversation  which  you  heard 
was  purely  accidental.  These  men  had  kept 
my  horse  while  I  visited  the  forges.  I  did 
not  know  which  one  had  held  it.  If  I  had 
given  one  coin  it  would  have  caused  a  fight. 
So  I  went  to  the  inn  and  ordered  lunch  for 


184  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

them.  They  offered  a  drink  to  me,  and 
while  drinking  with  them  I  talked  of  the 
candidates.  You  see  my  propaganda  is  very 
limited. 

-It's  useful,  anyway.  You'll  see  how 
gentle  Uncle  Marc  is.  I  am  sure  that  now 
that  he  has  returned  you  will  find  our  house 
much  less  a  bore. 

-  But  —  protested  the  prince  —  I  never. . . 
Darling  interrupted  him. 

-  You   can't  make  me   believe  that  it 
didn't  bore  you!...  And    now,  Monseign- 
eur,   Uncle  Marc's  socialistic  proclamation 
does  not  shock  you...  They  say  it  is  social- 
istic. 

-  But  I  am  a  socialist ! 

-  Oh  —  said  the  girl  —  don't  say  that  at 
Pont-sur-Sarthe...  Ah  !  You  are  a  socialist, 
Monseigneur,  and  it  won't  prevent  you  from 
becoming  a  sovereign? 

-  I  hope  not...  but  if  it  annoys  me...  I'll 
pass...  Is  that  the  right  term? 

-  Yes,  Monseigneur. 

—  It  will  be  easy   for  me...  I   have   six 
brothers...  and  you,  Miss  Coryse,  were  you 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  185 

making  an  electoral  tour  when  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  you  ? 

-No...  I  had  been  on  an  errand  at  the 
Barfleurs's. 

—  Ah...  M.  de  Barfleur  is   a   little   thin 
man,  isn't  he? 

-  Oh,  thin,  yes  ! 

-  Dressed  in  the  English  style  ? 

-  The  English  style  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe, 
yes. 

-And  he  has  a   fine  palace,  that   little 
man? 

-  Fine    enough,    but  it's  his  mother's 
palace. 

-  Is  his  mother  agreeable? 

—  Oh,  no  !..  she's  a  tall  woman  who  poses., 
andboney...  and  majestic!...  with  a  coun- 
terfeit sad  air. . .  an  air  as  if  misfortune  had 
just  come  to  her  !     I  always  feel  when  I  talk 
to  her  like  calling  her  "Unfortunate  Prin- 
cess," and  the  little  fellow  is  called  in  this 
district  "Two  Cents'  Worth  of  Butter." 

As    Count   Axen   laughed,    Darling   ex- 
plained : 

—  I   am   not   witty,   you    know. . .    I   am 


186  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

not...  but  I  have  no  affection  for  the  Bar- 
fleurs ! 

-  They  are  only  mother  and  son  in  the 
family? 

—  Oh,  Lord!  ...    Isn't  that  enough! 

-  I  shall  probably  meet  them  at  the  ball 
which  your  mother  is  to  give  ? 

-  Sure,    you'll  meet    them...    but  why 
should  you  care ! 

-  It  pleases  me  to  meet  provincial  society. 

—  What's  the  use?     If  you  knew  how 
small,  and  gossipy,  and  what  a  nuisance  it 
is,  how  far  above  it  all  you  are. 

-  But  I  am  not  above  anything. 

-  Outside  of  it,  if  you  prefer. . .  I  think, 
Monseigneur,  it  would  be  better  not  to  say 
that  we  were  out  alone  together. 

-  So  you  fear  gossip  ? 

-  Oh,  not  at  all. . .  but  I  fear  that  mother 
will  scold  if  she  learns  this. 

—  Then  what  am  I  to  do? 

-  Not  to  tell  it...  I  won't  tell  unless  they 
ask...  and  as  they  won't  ask... 

-  True,  there  is  no  probability  that  they 
may  guess  our  meeting. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  137 

—  If  perchance  they  guessed,  we  will  say 
yes... 

-  We  would  say  yes. 

-  It's  understood,  and  now  that  we  have 
to  separate,  I  beg  your  pardon  again,  Mon- 
seigneur,  for  all  my  faults  against  etiquette. 

And  she  added,  laughing : 

—  And  I  bow  profoundly  to  Your  High- 
ness. 

The  little  prince  took  off  his  hat  and  re- 
plied, laughingly: 

—  I  bow  profoundly  to  Miss  Darling. 


X. 


For  eight  days,  Darling  never  made  a 
step  out  of  doors  without  meeting  little  Bar- 
fleur.  Often,  too,  he  came  at  Bray's 
under  pretext  of  errands  from  his  mother ; 
and,  one  night  when  she  went  into  the 
parlor  at  dinner  time,  Coryse  found  him  in- 
stalled between  M.  and  Mme.  de  Bray.  She 
had  seen  at  six  o'clock  the  Vicomte  arrive 
in  his  little  cart,  but  she  thought  that  he 
had  gone,  and  she  stopped  astounded. 

-  M.  de  Barfleur  consented  to  dine  with 
us  —  said  the  marquise,  in  an  apparently 
charming  humor  —  we  will  escort  him  back 
to-night. 

As  long  as  the  heat  lasted,  M.  and  Mme.  de 
Bray  habitually  went  out  carriage  riding 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  189 

after  dinner,  taking  Darling  with  them. 
Seated  in  the  landau  opposite  her  parents, 
she  dared  neither  to  move  nor  to  laugh, 
and  remained  immovable  and  bothered,  as 
she  always  was  in  the  presence  of  the 
marquise. 

When  Marc  de  Bray  came,  his  face  ex- 
pressed at  sight  of  little  Barfieur  an  aston- 
ishment so  great  that  Coryse  laughed. 
And,  as  her  mother  took  the  Vicomte's  arm 
to  go  to  the  dining-room,  she  said*  to  Uncle 
Marc,  who  seemed  discontented : 

-  You  didn't  expect  that,  did  you? 

He  replied,  without  appearing  to  notice 
the  anxious  looks  of  his  brother : 

-  Then,   he  is  one  of  the  household  at 
present,  Two  Cents'  Worth  of  Butter? 

-  Not    yet  —  said   Coryse,    laughing  - 
but  he  is  trying ! 

Uncle  Marc  stopped  short : 

-  What     do     you     mean?  —  he  asked 
harshly. 

M.  de  Bray  said  in  an  undertone  : 

-  Go  in,  children,  go  in ! 

—  Well  —  said  the  marquise  in  a  bitter 


190  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

tone,  pointing  to  little  Barfleur,  who  was 
standing  by  his  chair  —  what  prevents  your 
coming?  M.  de  Barfleur  is  waiting  for 
you... 

From  the  beginning  of  the  dinner,  the 
Vicomte,'  placed  opposite  Coryse,  looked  at 
her  with  an  air  of  ecstasy.  The  girl,  who 
was  short-sighted,  did  not  even  suspect  this, 
but  Marc  de  Bray  noticed  the  affectation 
and  it  irritated  him.  His  irritation  became 
so  apparent  that  Darling  asked  : 

-What's  the  matter  to-night,  Uncle... 
you  look  cross? 

Vexed,  he  replied : 

-  Nothing. ..  that    is,     yes...  I    have    a 
headache. 

But,  in  spite  of  his  pretended  headache, 
he  began  to  talk  with  his  niece,  without 
permitting  her  for  an  instant  to  turn  her 
head  from  him. 

Displeased  by  this  attitude,  which  she 
thought  discourteous  to  her  protege,  the 
marquise  tried  several  times  to  recall  Dar- 
ling to  the  general  conversation,  but  always 
Darling  avoided  it.  Then,  seeing  that  she 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  191 

could   obtain   nothing   by   skill,    Mme.    de 
Bray  decided  to  break  the  glasses  : 

-  Coryse,    your  behavior  is   absolutely 
distasteful  to  me...  you  make  such  a  noise 
that  we  cannot  hear  one  another. 

The  girl  hushed,  without  even  finishing 
the  phrase  that  she  had  begun,  and  did  not 
open  her  lips  again. 

The  marquise  said : 

-  I  do  not  prevent  your  talking...  your 
replying  to  M.  Barfleur,  who  says  that. . . 

Darling  replied,  in  a  soft  and  polite  tone  : 

-  M.  de  Barfleur  talks  of  hunting  and  of 
races...  and  these   are   things   that  I  hate, 
and  about  which  I  understand  nothing. 

-  And  of  what  do   you    wish   to  talk, 
Mademoiselle?  —  asked  little  Barfleur. 

She  replied  in  the  same  modest  and  sub- 
missive tone : 

-  Of  nothing,   sir...  I  can  stay  without 
talking  of  anything. 

-  One  wouldn't  have  thought  it  a  moment 
ago, -- remarked    Mme.  de   Bray  with   an 
acute  voice. 

Coryse  replied : 


192  A    GALLIC    GIKL. 

-  It  is  true...  I  have  been  turbulent...  I 
beg  pardon... 

And  lowering  her  eyes  obstinately  on  her 
plate,  she  remained  silent  until  the  end  of 
the  dinner. 

When,  in  the  billiard-room  she  had 
served  the  coffee,  Darling  went  to  sit  on 
the  stoop  in  a  large  bamboo  chair  and 
rocked  while  looking  at  the  stars  which 
seemed  pale  in  the  still  clear  sky.  She  was 
drawn  from  her  torpor  by  her  mother,  who 
came  wearing  her  hat : 

-  What...  you  are  not  ready  !     The  car- 
riage is  ready...  you  are  so   heedless...  so 
careless. 

-  Pshaw  —  replied  the  girl  without  mov- 
ing —  go  along. . .  I  will  be  ready  when  you 
return  to  take  what  you  shall  have  forgot- 
ten. 

Uncle  Marc  laughed  frankly,  and  M.  de 
Bray  turned  his  head  to  hide  the  smile 
which  drew  his  lips  in  spite  of  himself. 
The  marquise,  become  purple,  asked  threat- 
eningly : 

—  What  are  you  saying? 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  193 

She  replied  without  emotion  : 

-  I  say  that  every  night  somebody  re- 
turns to  the  house  for  something  that  has 
been  forgotten. 

She  added  in  a  low  voice : 

—  And  to-night  somebody  will  return 
twice ! 

She  was  alluding  to  one  of  the  little  ways 
of  her  mother.  The  marquise  thought  that 
nobody  had  divined  them.  So  profound 
was  her  conviction  that  she  deceived  every- 
body ! 

Adoring  luxury,  display,  everything 
which  in  her  opinion  should  dazzle  and  fas- 
cinate the  public,  Mme.  de  Bray  had  by 
tormenting  her  husband  obtained  a  trans- 
formation of  her  carriages  and  liveries  which 
had  been  pretty  and  simple  as  long  as  they 
had  been  selected  by  him.  The  landau, 
with  blue  body,  spotted  with  enormous 
shields  embossed,  and  red  running  gear — 
was  grotesque,  but  the  marquise  felt  happy 
only  when  she  traversed  in  it  all  Pont-sur- 
Sarthe.  It  was  for  this  reason  that  she 
compelled  Coryse  to  go  out  with  her.  When 


194  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

the  girl  did  not  go  out,  the  victoria  was 
used,  and  the  victoria  was  a  much  more 
modest  wagon.  When  Mme.  de  Bray,  seated 
in  an  effective  pose  in  the  yelling  landau, 
with  scintillating  harness,  could  parade 
before  the  restaurants  of  the  Palais  Square 
at  the  vermouth  hour,  her  joy  was  at 
its  height.  At  six  and  at  eight  the  tables 
which  covered  the  sidewalk  were  crowded 
with  people.  The  military  officers  of  Pont- 
sur-Sarthe  met  at  Gilbert's,  the  stylish 
restaurant.  And,  instead  of  letting  the 
coachman  take  a  beautiful  macadamized 
street  which  went  directly  out  of  the  city, 
Mme.  de  Bray  gave  orders  to  pass  by  the 
square,  paved  with  horrible  little  slippery 
stones.  Oftener,  at  the  entrance  of  one 
of  the  little  streets  which  took  her  away 
from  the  preferred  district,  she  shuddered 
brusquely  and  ordered  a  return  to  the 
house. 

Darling  knew  well  her  exclamations : 
"Oh,  I  have  forgotten  my  umbrella,"  or 
"my  cape,"  or  "my  muff,"  or  "my  hand- 
kerchief," which  compelled  the  landau  to 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  195 

pass  a  second  and  even  a  third  time  before 
the  cherished  restaurants. 

She  had  a  profound  horror  of  these  exhi- 
bitions, and  when  she  saw  the  curious  faces 
turned  toward  the  carriage,  when  she  heard 
the  noise  of  sabres  and  spurs  of  officers  who 
rose  to  salute,  she  lowered  her  eyes,  discon- 
tentedly, saying  to  herself : 

-  Mustn't  they  make  fun  of  us ! 

And  she  was  irritated  at  being  mingled 
with  the  manoeuvres  which  made  her 
mother  ridiculous. 

The  marquis  and  his  brother  had  also 
observed  what  the  coachman  and  the  ser- 
vants called  ua  false  start,"  but  they  had 
never  communicated  their  reflections  on 
this  subject,  and  Darling's  reply  surprised 
and  amused  them. 

The  marquise  walked  toward  her  daugh- 
ter, pale,  with  hissing  voice,  and  asked : 

-  Why  shall  we  return  to-night  twice... 
why? 

-  Because  —  replied   Coryse,   after   she 
was  certain  that  little  Barfleur,  who  aifected 
to  be  searching  for  his  hat,  could  not  hear, 


196  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  to-night  you  have  Two  Cents'  Worth  of 
Butter  to  exhibit. . . 

But,  while  she  was  explaining  this,  she 
thought  that  she  would  in  a  moment  pass 
before  everybody  by  the  side  of  the  vicomte 
in  the  blue  landau.  Nothing  more  was 
required  at  Pont-sur-Sarthe  to  make  people 
believe  that  she  was  to  be  married  to  him. 
She  had  not  until  now  thought  that  she 
amounted  to  something.  In  her  own  eyes 
she  remained  the  little  Darling  whom  no- 
body took  seriously.  The  offer  of  M.  d' Au- 
bieres  and  the  insinuations  of  Father  Ragon 
had  taught  her  that  she  was  now  a  young 
girl  whom  the  former  loved  and  whom  the 
protege  of  the  other  would  pretend  to  love. 
Before  letting  her  mother  begin  a  scene, 
Darling  added : 

-Anyhow,   don't  bother  about  me...  I 
am  not  going  out...  I  am  tired. 

-  This  is  not  true...  you  are  never  tired. 

-  Have  it  your  way. . .  it  is  a  pretext,  but 
without   any  pretext   I  am  not  going  out 
to-night. 

-  You  will  go  out. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  197 

—  I  ask  your  permission  to  stay. 

—  Put  on  your  hat. 

And  as  Darling  did  not  move,  she  seized 
her  wrists  violently. 

The  child  disengaged  herself,  softly : 

-  This    intimate    little    scene    before   a 
stranger  is  ridiculous. 

The  marquise  turned  toward  M.  de  Bar- 
fleur,  suddenly  changing  her  convulsed  face 
into  a  smiling  physiognomy  : 

-  Oh,  M.  de  Barfleur  is  almost  one  of  the 
family ! 

-  Possibly —  replied  the  girl  —  but  not 
quite  of  the  family...  and  one  of  the  prov- 
erbs that  you  quote  most  often  is  that  one 
should  wash... 

-  That's  enough. 

While  the  marquis  and  Two  Cents'  Worth 
of  Butter  were  taking  their  coats  and  their 
sticks,  and  waiting  for  the  signal  to  go,  the 
marquise  said,  with  a  graceful  air  : 

-  If    I   insist    on    your    accompanying 
us,  the  reason  is  that  I  do  not  think  it  well 
that    you     should     remain    alone    in    the 
house. 


198  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

- 1  always  do.     Anyway,  I  am  not  alone, 
since  Uncle  Marc  is  here. 

-  But  your  uncle  will  probably  go  out. 
Marc  de  Bray  replied  drily : 

-  You  know  very  well,  my  dear  sister, 
that  I  never  go  out  at  night. 

-  Then  I  confide  Corysande  to  you. 
Nervously  Uncle  Marc  replied,  shrugging 

his  shoulders : 

-  You  may  be  sure  I  will  take  good  care 
of  her.     I  won't  let  her  soil  her  clothes  or 
play  with  the  light. 

And  as  little  Barfleur,  bent  over  the  hand 
that  mechanically  Coryse  had  extended  to 
him,  kissed  it  at  length,  he  took  his  niece's 
arm,  saying : 

—  Come,  Darling.' 

When  they  were  in  the  parlor  Coryse  said 
laughingly,  to  Uncle  Marc : 

-  There  was  trouble  to-night,  eh?     Yet  I 
was   not  indispensable,   since  there  was  a 
third  person  to  compel  the  use  of  the  landau. 

And  at  once  she  added,  seeing  that  her 
uncle  sat  by  the  lamp  and  opened  his  news- 
papers : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  199 

-You  know  if  you  have  to  work,  you 
need  not  feel  obliged  to  remain  here  with 
me. 

- 1  was  going  to  say  the  same  thing  to 
you. 

-  Oh,  as  for  me,  whether  I  do  my  work 
here  or  elsewhere,  its  all  the  same.  Only 
you  ordinarily  work  in  your  room  when 
father  goes  out. 

He  replied,  laughingly : 

-It's  true,  but  then  you  are  not  particu- 
larly recommended  to  me  as  you  are  to-day. 

Coryse  took  the  tall  silk  canvas  covered 
with  animals  and  odd  warriors  which  she 
was  copying  from  designs  of  Bayeux,  and 
sat  by  Uncle  Marc. 

In  a  moment  he  interrupted  his  reading 
to  look  over  his  newspaper  at  the  little  curly 
and  attentive  head  bent  on  the  canvas. 

-Darling  —  he  asked  suddenly  —  when 
I  said  before  dinner,  while  talking  of  that 
young  dude:  "Is  he  of  the  household 
now?"  you  replied:  "  Not  yet,  but  he's 
trying  to  be. " 

—  Yes  —  said  the  girl. 


200  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  Well  —  said  Marc,   hesitating  a  little 
—  I  did  not  understand  what  you  meant. 

—  I  meant  that  Two  Cents'  Worth  of  But- 
ter would  like  to  marry  me. 

The  Vicomte,  startled : 

—  I  had  half  guessed  that...  but  I  could 
not...  and  you  talk  of  it   with   such  calm- 
ness!    Marry  him...  it  would  be  absurd... 
it  would  be  monstrous. 

—  Oh,  you  maybe  calm   about  it...  he 
won't  marry  me  —  replied  Darling,  laugh- 
ing. 

—  Ah  —  murmured  Uncle    Marc.  —  So 
much  the  better. 

She  looked  at  him  affectionately. 

—  You   are  very  good  to  care  so  much 
about  things  that  concern  me. 

She  remained  silent  a  moment,  then  said  : 

—  Yet  you  are  the  cause  that  he  wants  to 
marry  me. 

—  I? 

-  Yes,  as  soon  as  they  knew  that  you 
had  inherited  so  much  money  they  said  that 
I  would  be  very  wealthy,  that  you  would 
give  me  a  dowry  and  all  your  fortune. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  201 

-  It  is  true. 

—  How  about  your  children? 

—  My  children  ?  . . .  I  have  no  children ! 

—  No,  but  when  you  will  be  married. 

—  I  am  not  to  be   married,  Darling.     I 
am  too  much  afraid  of  getting  a  wife  like. . . 

He  would  have  said  ' i  like  your  mother ; ' ' 
but  stopped  and  said : 

—  Like  some  that  I  know.     No...  I  am 
not  trustful,  and  I'll  stay  a  bachelor. 

—Oh,  so  much  the  better.     Then,  if  you 
wish... 

-  If  I  wish? 

-  I'll  go  and  live  with  you,     I'll  keep 
your    house.       I   don't    want    to    marry, 
either. . .  but  when  I  get  to  be  twenty-one,  I 
am  not  to  stay  here  certainly. 

And   seeing    that    Uncle    Marc    seemed 
moved : 

-  Not  one  day  after  I  am  twenty-one... 
in  spite  of  poor  papa,  who  is  so  good,  and 
who  will  miss  me.     I  know  very  well  that 
my  absence  will  make  things  here  easier  for 
him,  but  he'll  regret  me  anyway. 

Surprised,  the  Vicomte  asked  : 


202  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 


-  You   say  that  you   will   quit    here. . . 
where  will  you  go  ? 

-  I  have  always  thought  that  I  would 
ask  Aunt  Mathilde  and  Uncle  Albert  to  take 
me  back  with  them,  but  if  you  wanted  me  I 
would  be  so  happy.     I  like  you  so  much. . . 
more  than  I  like  papa. 

And  in  her  warm  voice  she  finished,  bend- 
ing over  him  with  tenderness : 

-  I  adore  you,  you  know ! 
He  said,  a  little  pale : 

-  I  do  not  deserve  to  be  adored,  my  little 
Darling. 

—  Oh,  yes ! 

-  Instead  of  keeping  house  for  your  old 
bear  of  an  uncle,  you  will  marry. . .  you  will 
have  a  lot  of  little  kids  who  will  yell  and 
advantageously  replace  Gribouille  and  old 
Jean. 

She  replied,  seriously : 

-  I  am  sure  that  I  shall  never  marry... 
yes,    sure...  I    cannot    explain    why...  but 
nobody  pleases  me. 

-  Nobody?     How   can    you  tell?     Poor 
Aubieres  is   certainly  a  handsome  fellow, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  203 

intelligent  and  good,  but  he  is  beginning  to 
fade;  as  for  the  other,  he  is  a  little  mon- 
ster. 

Coryse  laughed : 

—  Gro  and  tell  this  to  Mme.  Delorme. 

-  So    you    know    the     little     scandals. 
Well,  what  Mme.  Delorme  likes  in  Barfieur 
is  his  name,  his  title,  his  English  dress,  his 
horses  and  his  castle.     She  is  a  simple  little 
goose. 

- 1  know  it.  But  these  things  are 
things  that  some  other  person  might  like 
too.  I  know  that  I  will  never  love  any- 
body. 

He  asked,  anxiously : 

-  Then  perhaps  you  already  love  some- 
body? 

-  Not  on  your  life !  -  -  exclaimed  Dar- 
ling, with  such  conviction  that  Uncle  Marc 
smiled,  entirely  reassured. 

She  continued : 

-No...  nobody  pleases  me...  for  a  hus- 
band. There  is,  for  instance,  Paul  de 
Lussy,  whom  everybody  thinks  so  hand- 
some... and  M.  de  Trene,  for  whom  the 


204  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

women  fight...  I  wouldn't  have  them...  I 
know  very  well  that  it  is  ridiculous,  that  I 
haven't  the  right  to  be  hard  to  please,  with 
my  phiz. 

-  With  your  phiz?  —  asked  Uncle  Marc, 
in  surprise.  -  -  What  do  you  mean? 

—  I  mean  that  I  am  homely. 
He  said,  in  surprise : 

-Homely? 
She  replied,  sadly: 

—  Oh,  I  know  very  well...  it  bothers  me 
enough ! 

-  It's  your  mother  that  put  that  into 
your    head...  but     you    are     pretty,    very 
pretty,  do  you  hear? 

-  You  say  it  to  please  me...  or  perhaps 
you  think  it  because  you  like  me. 

-  Listen,  Darling  —  said  Uncle  Marc  —  I 
repeat  seriously  to  you  that   you  are,  and 
that  you  will  be  in  two  or  three  years,  a 
very  beautiful  woman.     Do  you  think  that 
Aubieres,  who  has  had... 

As  he  stopped,  Coryse  asked : 

-  Who  has  had  what? 

—  I  mean. . .  do  you  think  that  Aubieres, 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  205 


who  knows,  would  have  fallen  in  love  with 
you  if  you  were  not  beautiful?  No.  You 
ought  to  know  that  you  are  really  beauti- 
ful. . .  and  you  may  believe  your  old  uncle ! 

-  Then  —  exclaimed  the  girl  joyfully  — 
Darling  is  a  beautiful  woman. . .  how  funny 
it  is,  and  how  glad  I  anqi  that  it  is  so,  and 
now  I  thank  you  for  having  told  me  about 
it.     But  it  won't  prevent  me  from  keeping 
house  for  you. . .  on  the  contrary !     I  pray 
you,  Uncle  Marc,  say  yes.     And  until  then, 
don't  go,  don't  leave  me  here  without  you. 
I  can't  bear  not  to  see  you. 

Coryse  sat  on  the  floor,  and,  leaning 
on  the  Vicomte's  knees  her  little  head, 
which  under  the  pale  light  of  the  lamp, 
resembled  a  nest  of  silver  moss,  she  im- 
plored him  plaintively,  with  her  eyes  full 
of  tears: 

-  Don't  ever  go  again. 

As,  with  a  motion  almost  brutal  he  tried 
to  rise,  she  forced  him  to  sit  down  again  by 
embracing  him  with  her  arms  : 

—  Do  you  send  me  away?  Why  are  you 
thus  with  me?  You  are  not  the  same. 


206  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

Formerly  you  would  take  me  on  your  knees 
and  kiss  me ! 

He  replied  harshly : 

-  Formerly  you  were    small...  now  you 
have  passed  that  age. 

She  said,  while  two  tears  fell  on  her  pink 
cheeks : 

-  One  is  always  of  an  age  to  be  loved ! 

-  But  Hove  you  —  replied  Marc  de  Bray 
-  only  please  sit  down. 

While  he   was  trying  to  push  her  away, 
the  doorbell  rang. 

Uncle  Marc  pushed  Darling  roughly : 

-  Get    up,    quickly. . .  suppose    it    is   a 
visitor. 

She  got  up  and  replied,  laughingly : 
-A   visitor  ringing  in   so   hesitating  a 
manner?     When  a  man  rings  like  that  he 
rings  as  if  he  were  the  cook's  lover. 

The  servant  came  in : 

—  It  is  Count  Axen. 

-  The     marquise    has    gone    out  —  ex- 
claimed Coryse. 

-  Admit     him  —  ordered     Marc,      who 
seemed  relieved. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  207 

-  Oh  —  said   Darling,    surprised  —  you 
receive  him? 

And  in  a  sorrowful  tone  she  added : 

-  We  were  so  well  alone  together. 
Then,  suddenly    looking  at    her    uncle, 

anxiously : 

-  What  ails  you,  you* are  pale...  I  never 
saw  you  look  like  this. 

-  Nothing  —  replied  Marc  with  embar- 
rassment —  it's  the  heat...  in  an   instant  it 
will  be  over. 

He  went  toward  the  prince  who  entered, 
while  Darling  followed  him  with  her  blue, 
pensive  eye,s. 

-  Monseigneur,     my     sister-in-law    has 
gone  out.     My  niece  will  introduce  me  to 
your  Highness. 

And  as  the  little  girl  seemed  to  be  a  thou- 
sand miles  from  the  scene,  he  said  : 

-  Coryse...  you  have  not  heard? 
She  came  near  them,  gaily  : 

—  Oh,  you  may  say  Darling,  Monseigneur 
knows.  Monseigneur,  this  is  Uncle  Marc, 
for  whom  you  are  electioneering  throughout 
the  country. 


208  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

And  addressing  the  Yicomte,    who   was 
listening  in  surprise : 

-  You  do  not  know...  I  haven't  seen  you 
alone    since     yesterday...    I    found    Mon- 
seigneur  when  I  returned  from  Barfleur  ex- 
plaining to  workmen  at  the  furnace    why 
they  should  vote  for  you. 

-  Really  --  began  Marc,  --  I  am... 
Darling  interrupted  him. 

-  Yes...  but  you  know  you  mustn't  say 
that  I  met  Monseigneur,  and  that   I   went 
out  with  him  in  the  forest. . . 

She  turned  toward  the  prince  and  con- 
cluded : 

-  "With  Uncle   Marc   it   isn't   the  same 
thing...   you  can  say  anything  you  please 
to  him ! 

Seeing  that  the  Vicomte  listened  with  a 
serious  air,  she  added  sadly : 

-  Except  to-day...  to-day  I  don't  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  him...  he  seems  out 
of  sorts. 

-I  came  —  said  the  prince  —  to  thank 
Mme.  de  Bray  for  her  amiable  letter...  She 
wrote  to  me  a  while  ago. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  209 

-  Again !  -   -  exclaimed     Darling,    who 
thought : 

-  Does  she  write  to  him  twice  a  day? 

-  She  wants  to  propose  to  me  —  contin- 
ued Count  Axen,  --  invitations  for  her  ball, 
if  I  desire   to   invite   some   one.     She  has 
taken  the  pains  to  send-  me  a  list  that   I 
have  brought  back. 

He  placed  an  envelope  on  the  table,  and 
rising : 

-  Now  I  will  not  disturb  you  longer. . . 

-  But  Monseigneur  insisted    Uncle 
Marc,  with  a  vivacity  that  surprised  Coryse 
—  if  you  have  nothing  to  do  to-night...  we 
should  be  charmed... 

Darling  went  out  to  order  tea ;  then  went 
to  put  Gribouille  to  bed  and  see  that  the 
flowers  had  been  sprinkled.  When  she  re- 
turned, in  an  instant,  she  saw  that  the  two 
men  were  talking  of  a  thousand  things  that 
interested  them  and  paid  no  attention  to 
her. 

"When  at  eleven  o'clock  the  prince  went 
out,  Coryse  asked  Uncle  Marc : 

—  What  do  you  think  of  him? 


210  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—He  is  intelligent  and  gentle... 
And  suspiciously  he  asked  : 

-Why  did  you  tell  me  the  reverse  of 
this? 

-  What  reverse? 

-  You  said  that  he  was  as  high  as  a  boot 
and  black. 

—  It  is  true,  he  is  homely. 

—Oh,  and  who^is  handsome,  in  your  view? 

- 1  do  not  know. . .  you,  for  instance ! 

-I! 

-Yes.  I  don't  say  that  you  are  a 
model  of  Greek  beauty...  but  I  think  that 
you  look  very  well.  I  don't  like  little  young 
men.  A  man  never  looks  like  a  man  be- 
fore he  is  thirty-five. 

-I  am  very  sorry  for  poor  d'Aubieres 
that  you  couldn't  extend  the  limit  further. 
I  like  the  little  prince. 

-  So  do  I,  but  I  did  not  like  him  before 
I  went  out  with  him. 

Uncle  Marc  knit  his  eyebrows  : 

-Let's  talk  about  that  ride  with  him  in 
the  forest.  Decidedly  your  mother  is  right, 
you  behave  like  a  badly-bred  girl.  At  your 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  211 

age  you  shouldn't  be  running  in  the  woods 
with  a  young  man. 

—  Oh, ...  a  king  ! 

-What's  the  difference?...  a  king  is  a 
man. 

-  If  you  wish,  and  then  I  wasn't  alone. 

-  Yes,  you  were  alone-. . .   I  suppose  you 
will  say  that  Jean  was  there. . .  an  old  idiot ! 

Sadly  the  girl  murmured : 

-  How  wicked  you  are  becoming. . .  how 
wicked  ! 

-  Wicked  because  I  do  not  applaud  your 
fantastic  ideas...  because  I  don't  encourage 
you  to  flirt  in  the  forest  with  every  passing 
foreigner. 

She  said,  laughingly : 

—  Now  he's  a  foreigner...  a  moment  ago 
you  liked  him. 

The  Vicomte  said : 

- 1  have  enough  of  your  manners.  It  is 
perhaps  true  that  I  have  spoiled  you.  I 
have  laughed  at  your  attitudes  which  are 
not  now  droll.  I  have  encouraged  your  bad 
instincts.  If  I  am  the  cause  of  what  hap- 
pens to-day  I  am  very  repentant. 


212  A    GALLIC    GIEL. 

In  his  harsh  voice  one  felt  the  hoarse- 
ness of  tears.  Darling  tried  to  take  his 
hands,  which  he  withdrew  violently. 

Then,  standing  straight  before  him,  the 
prey  of  an  intense  emotion  which  she  was 
trying  to  conceal,  she  stuttered  feebly : 

-  It  isn't  possible...  how  that  voyage  has 
changed  you,  Uncle  Marc  ! 


The  day  when  the  Barfleur  dinner  took 
place,  M.  de  Bray  had  a  frightful  cold,  which 
swelled  his  nose  and  lips  and  closed  his  eyes. 
He  said  to  his  wife  that  he  could  not  go  out. 
He  had  a  fever  and  would  sleep  until  morn- 
ing. The  marquise  objected : 

—  It's  a  frightful  trick  to  play  on  the 
Barfleurs...  we  are  fourteen...  Mme.  de  Bar- 
fleur told  me  so. 

—  Well? 

—  Well,  we  shall-  be  thirteen,  naturally. 
It  isn't  two  hours  before  dinner  that  one 
may  find  a  new  guest. 

—  I  am  very  sorry,   but  I  am  too  ill  to 
go  there. 


214  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

And  he  added,  laughingly  : 

-  You  think  that  to  be  thirteen  at  table 
makes  one  of  the  thirteen  die  during  the 
year.     I  am  sure  that  I  would  die,  even  if 
there  should  be  fourteen,  if  I  went  out  in 
my  condition. 

-  If  at  least  Coryse  would  replace  you— 
proposed  the  marquise. 

-  Never —  exclaimed  the  girl. 
M.  de  Bray  insisted : 

—  My  little  Darling,  it  would  be  so  good 
of  you. 

—  Oh,  no. 

And  then,  thinking  she  had  found  an 
excellent  pretext  to  remain,  she  exclaimed : 

-  I  must   dine  with  Uncle  Marc.     If  I 
didn't  he  would   be   alone,   since  you   are 
going  to  bed. 

Uncle  Marc,  who  had  not  until  then 
seemed  to  hear  a  word  of  the  conversation, 
protested  vivaciously : 

—  Not  at  all,  what  an  idea  . . .  one  would 
think  that  I  need  a  servant. 

-  No,  but  you  always  say  that  it  bothers 
you  to  be  alone  at  table. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  215 

-  I  never  said  that ! 

-  Oh  —  said  Darling  —  it  isn't  once,  it's 
a  hundred  times  that  you've  said  it. 

-  Well,  then,  I  did  not  know  that  I  was 
saying  it,  and  if  you  were  a  good  Darling 
you  would   go   to   that   dinner  with   your 
mother. . .  you  would  go  to  please  me. 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  profound  aston- 
ishment. 

—  How  can  he  —  she  thought  —  after  all 
that  he  has  said  to  me  about  little  Barfleur, 
have  the  idea  of  sending  me  there...  I  who 
never  go  anywhere. 

And  she  replied : 

-  In  any  case  I  could,  not  go  to  the  Bar- 
fleurs  to-night. 

-  Why? —  asked  Mme.  de  Bray. 

-  I  told  you  the  other  day. . .  I  have  no 
gown. 

-  But  the  one  which  your  father  gives 
you? 

-  I  ordered  it  for  to-morrow. . .  it  is  not 
finished. 

—  Well,  we  will  make  up  your  pompa- 
dour gown. 


216  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  Now  that   people   are  accustomed  to 
seeing  me  in  long  gowns,  they'll  be  aston- 
ished, and  they'll  be  right. 

She  added,  laughingly : 

-  Especially  since  if  you  do  not  tie  it 
down  people  will  see  my  knees  when  I  sit. 

Uncle  Marc  rose : 

-  Put  on  your  hat. . .  come  with  me  and 
you  shall  have  a  gown. 

-  But —  said  Coryse,  still  resisting  :  — you 
have  a  rage   for  sending  me  over   there. . . 
well,  I'll  go  if  you  wish. 

And  going  out  of  the  parlor  she  said  to 
herself,  glancing  reproachfully  at  Marc, 
who  avoided  her  look  : 

-  He  will   not  stay  alone  with  me... 
but  why  won't  he? 

The  Vicomte  brought  Darling  to  the  best 
dressmaker  in  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  a  dress- 
maker whom  she  knew  only  by  name,  and 
up  the  stairway  of  whose  house  she  went 
with  respect. 

Not  only  the  modest  income  of  Coryse, 
but  the  fact  that  the  marquise  herself  did 
not  employ  the  great  dressmaker,  had  made 


\ 
A    GALLIC    GIRL.  217 

impracticable  Coryse's  acquaintance  with, 
her.  Totally  destitute  of  taste,  incapable 
of  discerning  the  grace  of  a  well-cut  gown, 
from  the  homeliness  of  a  badly-made  one, 
understanding  only  the  differences  of  colors 
or  of  ornaments,  caring  only  for  stuffs, 
feminine  dress  for  the  marquise  was  re- 
duced to  the  simple  proposition  whether  it 
was  effective  or  not.  "When  she  had  said 
of  a  gown,  "it  is  not  effective,"  that  the 
gown  was  delightful  was  of  no  importance. 
For  her,  tailors  and  dressmakers  whose 
prices  were  elevated,  were  thieves.  She 
admitted  only  the  commercial  price  of  the 
stuffs  and  the  quantity  of  yards  of  it  to  be 
used,  and  it  was  useless  to  try  to  explain  to 
her  that  the  cut  changed  everything.  She 
had  the  same  views  in  art.  She  never  could 
understand  that  among  very  wealthy  people 
could  be  found  an  individual  crazy  enough 
to  give  15,000  francs  for  a  portrait,  when 
you  could  get  one  for  2,000,  and  look  bet- 
ter flattered  in  the  latter.  A  novel,  if  it 
were  not  full  of  facts  and  intrigues,  ap- 
peared to  her  to  be  "empty."  And  she 


218  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

could  not  understand  how  anybody  liked 
Loti  who  "lacks  imagination." 

So  Mme.  de  Bray  bought  stuffs  and 
caused  to  be  made,  by  one-eyed  working 
girls  of  Pont-sur-Sarthe,  gowns  which  were 
frightfully  unbecoming.  Darling  followed 
the  same  system  and  arrived  at  the  same 
result,  but  her  stuffs  were  better  chosen  and 
their  form  was  always  the  same,  a  sort  of 
Russian  blouse,  wherein  her  elegant  little 
body  was  only  half  divined. 

When  Uncle  Marc  entered,  followed  by 
his  niece,  in  Mme.  Bertin's  drawing-room, 
Coryse  was  surprised  to  see  that  the  sales- 
women knew  him.  And  at  once  her  little 
head  began  to  work. 

"What  could  Uncle  Marc  have  want- 
ed with  a  dressmaker...  and  a  dress- 
maker who  did  not  dress  Mme.  de  Bray 
nor  Luce  de  Givry,  nor  even  Mme.  de 
Bassigny?  " 

And  while  waiting  for  Mme.  Bertin,  Dar- 
ling asked,  curiously : 

-  They  know  you  here?...  How  is  it  that 
they  know  you? 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  219 

-  Oh,  I  came...  I...  I  drew  costumes  for 
the  Lussac  ball  last  year,  and... 

She  corrected : 

-  One  costume. ..  not  costumes...  yes...  I 
remember  the  costume  that  Mme.  de  Liron 
wore. 

-  That  one  and  others. 

-No...  that  one  and  not  others...  it 
made  enough  scandal ! 

-  Don't  talk  so  loud ! 

-  Nobody  is  listening  —  said   Darling, 
pointing  to  the  young  women   going   and 
coming  through  the  parlors. 

She  remained  for  an  instant  absorbed  and 
silent,  and  then  suddenly,  as  if  she  were 
continuing  a  conversation  with  herself,  said : 

-  Another  one  who   deceives    her    hus- 
band, Mme.  de  Liron ! 

-Can't  you  hush!  --exclaimed  Uncle 
Marc,  looking  around  him  with  an  anxious 
air.  —  Please  hush,  for  heaven's  sake ! 

He  added,  crossly : 

—  Young  girls  should  not  talk  of  things 
that  they  don't  understand,  and  that  they 
need  not  understand. 


220  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  I  know  very  well  that  I  need  not  un- 
derstand... I  don't  understand  anyway,  but 
I  hear  things...    I   can't  help   hearing.     1 
don't  put  cotton  in  my  ears  as  cousin  La 
Balue  does. 

-  One  hears  only  what  one  listens  to. 

—  Oh   no,  I   never  listen,   and  I  always 
hear.       Sometimes     I     had      rather     not 
hear...    the   Mme.    de   Liron    occasion    for 
example. . . 

-  I  forbid    you  naming   people.     There 
might  be  a  servant  here  from  her  house. 

-  And  you    think  the   servants  of  her 
house  don't  know  what  she  does? 

-  In  any  case  it  is  useless  for  them  to 
hear  you  tell  about  it. 

-  Or  you,  eh? 

Visibly  irritated,  she  added : 

-  I  don't  know  why  you  want  to  talk  of 
Mme.  de  Liron  all  the  time. 

Uncle  Marc  looked  at  her  in  astonish- 
ment. 

—  I  want  to  talk  of  her ! 

The  door  of  one  of  the  rooms  was  opened, 
and  little  Mme.  de  Liron,   enveloped   in  a 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  221 

cloud  of  pink  gauze,  came  in  like  a  whirl- 
wind, followed  by  Mme.  Bertin  : 

—  I  am   told  that   you  are  here.     I  will 
not  let  you  go  without  greeting  you. 

She  shook  the  Yicomte's  hand,  and  turn- 
ing toward  Darling : 

—  Good  morning,  Mademoiselle  Coryse. 

*. 

Then  returning  to  Marc  : 

-  You  come  to  order  a  gown? 
He  replied,  hesitatingly : 

-  I  came  for  my  niece. 

Mme.  de  Liron  laughed,  opening  her 
mouth,  the  teeth  of  which  lacked  splendor. 
-You  are  playing  the  mother...  it's 
touching. 

And,  seeing  the  reserved  air  of  the 
Yicomte,  she  hastened  to  add  : 

-  Accept  my  compliments.    Your  daugh- 
ter is  charming. 

Darling  looked  as  if  she  had  not  heard. 
She  regarded  the  young  woman  with  a  sort 
of  avidity. 

She  was  a  very  pretty  little  person,  round 
and  full  of  dimples.  Her  brown  hair  fell  in 
curls  on  a  flat  forehead.  Her  large  eyes 


222  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

were  chocolate,  caressing.  She  had  a  small 
mouth  which  was  charming  when  she  did 
not  open  it.  Her  shoulders  were  white  in 
her  gown  excessively  decollete. 

Darling  saw  that  Mme.  de  Liron  could 
be  very  agreeable. 

As  Marc  said  nothing,  the  young  woman 
continued : 

-You  shall  have  something  pink  made  for 
her,  I  hope...  only  pink  becomes  complex- 
ions like  hers. . .  you  would  be  polite  if  you 
told  me  at  least  what  you  think  of  my  gown. 

He  replied,  indifferently : 
-It's  quite  a  success. 

-  Well,  one  would  think  from  the  way  in 
which  you  say  it  that  it  was  not  to  be  be- 
lieved.    It?s  for  to-morrow,  for  your  sister- 
in-law's  ball...  We  dine  together  to -night  at 
Barfleur. 

-No...  I  dine  very  little,  you  know... 
and  at  present  I  am  in  mourning. 

-  That's  so.     I  haven't  seen  you   since 
your  return. 

- 1  came  back  day  before  yesterday,  and 
cannot  yet  make  calls. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  223 

-  I  know  —  she  went  brusquely  to  touch 
some  goods  unfolded  on  an  armchair,  and 
passing  in  front  of  the  Vicomte,  said  to  him 
quickly  and  in  a  low  voice : 

-  But  you  might  have  seen  me  otherwise. 
Uncle  Marc  looked  furtively  at  Darling, 

trying  to  guess  if  she  had^heard. 

Very  white,  her  eyes  lowered  in  an  im- 
mobility which  was  statuesque,  the  girl 
seemed  insensible.  A  movement  of.  her 
temples  alone  indicated  that  she  had  life, 
and  Marc  thought : 

-  She  has  gone  into  her  blue  dreams. . . 
she  has  not  observed  anything. 

Mme.  de  Liron  turned  and  asked : 

-  Your  brother  and   your   sister-in-law 
dine  there  to-night,  do  they  not? 

-  My  brother  is  ill. . .  my  sister-in-law  will 
go  with  my  niece. 

-  Oh,  it  will  be,  if  I  mistake  not,  Miss 
Coryse's    first    appearance   in    society.      I 
shall     be     delighted     to     dine    with    her 
to-night. 

Darling  bowed,  thinking : 

—  She  isn't  like  me,  then.     Since  I  know 


224:  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

that  she  is  to  be   there,  the  thing  seems  to 
me  to  be  more  bothersome  than  ever ! 
Uncle  .Marc  addressed  the  dressmaker : 

-  When  could  I  talk  to  you,  Mme.  Ber- 
tin?     I  am  in  a  hurry.     I  need  a  gown  for 
my  niece ;  I  must  have  it  at  five  o'clock,  and 
it  is  already  half-past  one. 

-  I    do   not    need    Mme.    Bertin  —  ex- 
claimed Mme.  de  Liron. 

And  she  went  back  into  the  room. 

-  Well —  asked  Uncle  Marc  —  what  could 
you  do  for  me? 

—  You  may  well  know,  Monsieur  le  Yi- 
comte,  that  we  cannot  make  a  gown  by  five 
o'clock  ...  We  can  only  try  one  of  our  mod- 
els. If  it  almost  fits,  it  may  be  easily 
arranged. 

-  But  your  models  are  faded. 

-  The  young  girls  have  tried  them  on... 
but  some  of  them  are  very  fresh. 

And  looking  at  Coryse,  she  suggested : 

-  There    is    now    a    little    pink    gown 
which... 

-  No —  exclaimed   Darling  brusquely— 
no  pink...  I  don't  want  it! 


A    GALLIC    GIEL.  225 

Mme.  Bertin  asked : 

-  Is     there     a    color    that   you   prefer, 
Mademoiselle  ? 

-  I  do  not  care  —  said  Darling  —  I  will 
wear  anything  you  wish  except  pink. 

And  she  added : 

-  However,  I  like  white ! 

One  of  the  young  women  brought  a  white 
silk  muslin  gown.  Mme.  Bertin  opened 
the  door  of  a  room  and,  making  Coryse 
enter : 

-  Will  Mademoiselle  try  it  on? 
Seeing  that  Marc  did  not  move,  she  asked  : 

-  Will   you  not   come   in,  Monsieur   le 
Yicomte  ? 

Uncle  Marc  followed  the  dressmaker  and 
took  a  seat  in  the  room  where  Darling  was 
already  coming  out  of 'her  gown,  delicate  in  a 
little  short  skirt  and  silk  jersey,  the  jersey 
on  which  she  tied  her  stockings. 

Uncle  de  Launay,  who  had  taken  charge 
of  the  physical  education  of  the  child,  never 
permitted  her  to  wear  corsets,  garters  or 
boots.  He  declared  that  these  objects  were 
homely  and  unhealthy.  Nothing,  he  af- 


226  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

firmed,  compressed  form  and  flesh  so  much 
as  corsets  and  garters,  and  nothing  hurts 
the  ankle  and  the  instep  so  much  as  boots. 
He  admitted  the  use  of  corsets  and  boots  to 
conceal  imperfections ;  but  he  had  no  tol- 
eration for  garters.  So  Darling  had  grown 
freely,  and  when  at  twelve  her  mother  had 
wished  to  make  her  waist,  as  she  said,  the 
girl  had  resisted  with  a  violence  so  extraor- 
dinary, that  her  mother  had  to  yield.  Bar- 
ling said  that  she  would  not  deform  herself 
on  purpose. 

-  I  wish  to  be  myself.     I  do  not  wish  to 
copy  my  neighbor's  waist.    I  do  not  say  that 
I  am  better,  but  I  like  myself  better  as  I  am. 
I  don't  look  as  if  I  had  swallowed  a  stick. 

And  looking  furtively  at  Mme.  de  Bray's 
waist,  she  concluded : 

-  I  think  that  a  big  bust  and   big  hips 
with  a  small  waist  is  horrible. . .  it  looks  like 
a  pillow  tied  in  the  middle. 

When  Darling  had  put  on  the  simple  little 
gown  with  its  filmy  skirts  falling  straight, 
and  its  shirred  corsage  draping  her  elegant 
bust,  Mme.  Bertin  exclaimed  : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  227 

-  This  gown  fits. . .  there   are   not   three 
alterations  to  be  made...  anyway,  everything 
fits  pretty  waists. . .  her  waist  is  pretty,  isn't 
it,  Monsieur  le  Yicomte. 

-  Yes,   certainly  —  answered  Marc,  sur- 
prised at  Darling's  transformation. 

In  this  elegant  and  well-made  gown,  which 
moulded  her  beautiful  shoulders  and  her 
arms  yet  thin,  but  pure  in  design,  the  girl 
appeared  so  absolutely  different  that  Uncle 
Marc  said  to  himself,  at  once  pleased  and 
annoyed : 

-  They  will  not  recognize  her  to-night. 
At  this  moment   the  door   of  the   room 

was  opened  and  Mme.  de  Liron  looked  in, 
saying : 

-  You  do  not  need  my  advice? 

-  No,  thank  you  —  replied  Marc  drily, 
blushing. 

The  young  woman  caught  sight  of  Coryse. 
In  presence  of  this  incredible  change,  she 
remained  petrified.  Her  pretty  laughing 
face  had  an  expression  of  wickedness,  and, 
pushing  the  door  violently,  she  cried  to  the 
Yicomte : 


228  A   GALLIC    GIKL. 

-  Well,  you  are  not  without  amusement. 
Coryse  half  closed  her  clear  eyes  and  said 

softly : 

-  Mme.  de  Liron  is  rather  turbulent. 
But  while  they  were  walking  a  quarter  of 

an  hour  later  in  the  street,  Darling  declared 
without  naming  the  young  woman,  sure  that 
he  was  thinking  of  her : 

—  All  the  same,  she  isn't  much  embar- 
rassed with  you... 

He  replied : 

-  Nobody  embarrasses  her ! 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  and  said  seri- 
ously : 

—  Oh...  there  are  shades  of  embarrass- 
ment! 


XII. 


As  Uncle  Marc  foresaw,  Darling's  en- 
trance in  the  Barfleur  parlor  took  the  pro- 
portions of  a  triumph.  Mistrustful  as  she 
was  of  herself,  she  realized  the  effect  that 
she  produced.  She  even  laughed  in  the 
face  of  Mme.  de  Bassigny,  who  looked  at  her 
with  a  vexed  and  stupid  air. 

-  It  bothers  her  that  I  am  charming  - 
she  thought. 

As  for  the  marquise,  the  admiration  in- 
spired by  her  daughter  overwhelmed  her. 
Not  at  all  wicked  in  reality,  but  only  vain 
and  silly,  she  enjoyed  all  that  contributed 
in  any  manner  to  make  her  seem  greater. 
Darling's  success  nattered  her.  The  long 
faces  of  her  friend  Bassigny  and  of  little  de 


230  A    GALLIC    GIKL. 

Liron  pleased  her,  and  she  looked  benevo- 
lently at  Darling,  who  received  compliments 
with  a  stiffness  more  astonished  than  timid. 

The  Barfleurs  did  not  see  without  vague 
anxiety  this  unexpected  transformation. 
They  thought  that  if  they  were  willing  to 
give  Darling  to  them  when  she  was  only 
wealthy,  they  might  refuse  her  now  that  she 
was  pretty  also.  And  Mme.  de  Barfleur, 
irritated  at  seeing  M.  de  Trene,  M.  de  Ber- 
nay  and  Count  de  Liron  attentive  to  the 
girl,  gracefully  called  Coryse  and  made  her 
sit  beside  her  in  order  to  watch  her.  Dar- 
ling obeyed  docilely.  She  did  not  care 
where  she  was,  since  she  could  not  talk  with 
Uncle  Marc  nor  with  her  father,  nor  with 
anybody  that  she  liked. 

There  were  her  cousins  Lussy,  Genevieve 
and  her  brother;  but  Coryse  had  never 
been  friendly  with  Genevieve,  a  beautiful 
girl  two  years  older  than  she  and  an  expert 
in  all  the  coquetries  of  society. 

At  last  Mme.  de  Barfleur,  hearing  a  car- 
riage roll  on  the  sand  of  the  courtyard, 
exclaimed : 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  231 

-  Here  he  comes  ...  I  was  afraid  that  he 
would  not  return ! 

Darling,  who  was  awaiting  with  indiffer- 
ence the  coming  of  the  new  guest,  was 
astonished  to  see  the  Due  d'Aubieres  enter. 
And  her  pleasure  was  so  vivid  that  she  rose 
with  a  bound  and  went  up  to  him  saying : 

-  Oh,  how  happy  I  am  to  see  you ! 

The  Colonel  stopped  in  surprise :  not  at 
all  recognizing  Coryse  in  the  elegant  person 
who  received  him  so  cordially.  And  when 
he  realized  that  it  was  Darling  who  stood 
before  him,  his  long  serious  face  expressed 
so  great  an  astonishment  that  Coryse,  divin- 
ing the  cause  of  it,  exclaimed  : 

-  What !  you  do  not  recognize  me  either? 
Suddenly  she  saw  that  they  were  looking 

at  her  curiously,  and  heard  Mme.  de  Bas- 
signy  whispering  to  the  marquise  : 

-  Your  daughter  does,  not  pout  at  her 
rejected  suitors. 

Mme.  de  Bray,  irritated  by  Darling's 
attitude,  replied: 

-  She    is   ridiculously  childish   for  her 
age! 


232  A    GALLIC    GIEL. 

And  Coryse  thought :  ' '  This  time  they 
are  right !  I  have  lacked  tact. ' ' 

The  Due  d'Aubieres  was  a  little  put  out 
of  countenance.  He  expected  so  little  to 
find  Darling,  and  so  little  to  find  her  almost 
a  woman,  well  dressed,  retaining  of  the 
child  nothing  but  her  long  curls  ! 

But  as  he  looked  at  her  attentively,  he 
became  calmer,  more  resigned  than  if  he 
had  found  her  as  he  had  seen  her  the  last 
time. 

If  he  had  thought  for  an  instant  that  he 
was  close  by  the  little  Darling  without 
wealth,  he  found  himself  infinitely  sepa- 
rated from  Mademoiselle  d'Avesnes  become 
wealthy.  She  appeared  to  him  like  an 
incarnation  of  some  being  loved  formerly,  a 
long,  long  time  ago. 

He  examined  her  with  astonished  curios- 
ity, and,  little  by  little,  his  passion  for  Dar- 
ling was  attenuated. 

-  What  ails  you  to-night,  Colonel? 
asked  Mme.  de  Bassigny  —  has  your 
voyage  tired  you? 

—  No,  Madame...  why? 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  233 


-  Oh,  because  you  look  odd ! 
He  bowed : 

-It's  probably  a  look  which  is  natural 
to  me.  Fatigue  has  nothing  to  do  with  it. 

Mme.  de  Barneur,  who  could  not  place 
Coryse  near  her  son,  had  tried  to  avoid  the 
disquieting  presence  of  the  handsome  Trene 
or  of  M.  de  Bernay.  She  therefore  installed 
the  girl  between  the  Due  d'Aubieres  and  M. 
de  Liron. 

During  the  dinner  Darling,  glad  to  be 
near  the  Colonel,  had  talked  gaily  of  things 
which  interested  them  both  :  of  Uncle  Marc, 
of  Gribouille,  and  also  of  painting  and  art 
things,  M.  d'Aubieres  being  much  more  cul- 
tured and  intelligent  than  most  people  in 
society.  And,  towards  the  end,  while  the 
conversations  became  noisy,  and  nobody 
was  paying  any  attention  to  them,  Darling 
told  him  in  a  low  voice  how  the  Barneurs 
were  paying  court  to  her,  the  insinuations 
of  Father  Ragon,  and  the  little  enterprises 
against  which  she  had  to  struggle. 

-  And,  -   -  the  Due  had  asked  —  what 
does  Marc  say  to  all  this? 


234  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  He  thinks  that  it  is  idiotic...  and  yet 
he  wanted  me  to  dine  here  to-night,  and  he 
gave  me  this  gown  to  come.     I  do  not  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  him,  but  he  is  not 
acting  at  all  with  me  as  he  was  formerly. 

-  How  is  that? 

-  I  cannot  explain  it  to  you.     He  is  fan- 
tastic.    He   is  rough  with  me  without  my 
deserving  it.     It  seems   nothing,  but  it  is 
something  all  the  same. 

-  I  will  see  him  to-morrow  morning.     I 
said  good-bye  to  him  in  such  a  hurry. 

-  With  regard  to  that  —  asked  Darling, 
raising  timidly  her  clear  eyes  on  the  Due  - 
you  are  not  sorry  now,  are  you  ? 

He  replied  frankly : 

-  I  would  not  say  unot  sorry  "...  but  I 
am  wise  about  it,  and  I  thank  you  for  hav- 
ing been  so  reasonable. 

-  So  much  the  better ! 

After  a  moment  she  continued : 

-  You  said  that  you  would  come  to-mor- 
row to  see  Uncle  Marc.     To-morrow  is  the 
day  of  the  races. 

-  Yes,  but  I  will  see  Marc  in  the  morning. 


A   GALLIC    GIRL.  235 


-  You  know  that  at  night  there  is  to  be 
a  ball  at  the  house.  There's  another  saw !... 
the  little  prince  whom  you  sent  is  very  gen- 
tle.    It's  for  him  that  the  ball  is  given. 

—You  think  that  my  little  prince  is  gentle  ? 

-  Yes,  now !     I  began  by  thinking  him  a 
bore,  but  we  have  become  good  friends. 

After  dinner  Mme.  de  Barfleur  asked 
Darling  to  serve  the  coffee,  with  her  son ; 
then  asked : 

-  Ladies,  will  you  permit  smoking? 
Coryse,    who   hoped    that   the   smoking- 
room  would  rid  her  of  Two  Cents'  Worth  of 
Butter — whose   phrases,  veiled   with   mys- 
tery, irritated  her  profoundly — made  a  wry 
face,  and  went  in  a  corner,  while  Genevieve 
de   Lussy,    already   a   woman    of    society, 
flirted  precisely,  occupying,  with  little  de 
Liron,  the  centre  of  a  group  formed  by  the 
men.     After  a  while,  Mme.  de  Bray  whis- 
pered to  Darling : 

-  Don't  stay  in  a  corner  without  talk- 
ing... you  look  like  a  goose. 

-  What  shall  I  talk  about? 
—  About  anything. 


236  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

The  girl  did  not  know  how  to  talk  about 
nothing,  and  a  purely  mundane  conversation 
embarrassed  her. 

She  remained  silent,  seeking  uselessly 
the  occasion  to  say  a  word.  Then  she  re- 
nounced trying,  and  began  thinking  of 
other  things  in  spite  of  the  furious  looks  of 
her  mother. 

While  she  was  dreaming  of  Uncle  Marc, 
who  at  that  moment  must  have  been  read- 
ing his  newspapers,  or  of  Gribouille,  who 
must  have  been  eating  his  soup,  she  re- 
marked a  certain  agitation  in  the  parlor. 
At  the  end  of  a  discussion  on  the  authen- 
ticity of  a  portrait  of  Henry  IV.,  little  Bar- 
fleur  took  an  enormous  lamp  which  he  could 
hardly  carry,  and,  climbing  on  a  chair,  did 
the  best  he  could  to  throw  light  on  the 
painting.  The  face  of  the  king  appeared 
bony  and  energetic. 

And  Darling,  looking  at  this  homely  and 
sympathetic  head,  exclaimed,  with  an 
amiable  air : 

-  Goodness !...  there's  a  man  who  hadn't 
a  Protestant's  mug! 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  237 

This  was  received  frigidly,  and  Darling 
remembered  that  the  Lirons  were  Protes- 
tants. Trying  to  change  the  course  of  ideas, 
she  said : 

—  It's  on  his  account,  I  suppose,  that  I 
have  a  ridiculous  name. 

Little  Barfleur  askedj 

—  How  is  your  name  ridiculous? 

-  Corysande !    my  name   is  Corysande ! 
Didn't  you  know? 

-  Yes,   mademoiselle,    but    it  is  not  a 
ridiculous  name,  it  is,  on  the  contrary,  a 
charming  name. 

-  Oh,  that  is  a  question  of  taste. 

-  And  why  is  it  the  fault  of  Henry  IV., 
if  you  have  that  name  which  you  do  not 
like? 

—  It's  his  fault,  because  it  is  in  memory 
of  the  beautiful  Corysande.  - 

And   seeing  that  Two  Cents'  Worth  of 
Butter  did  not  understand,  she  repeated  : 

—  The  beautiful  Corysande...  don't  you 
know? 

He  replied : 

—  Yes. 


238  A    GALLIC    GIKL. 

-  Oh,  you  do  not   look   as  if   you  did 
know.     She  was  the  Comtesse  de  Guiche, 
the  beautiful  Corysande. . .  and  she  was  the 
godmother  of  one  of  the  Avesnes  in  1589, 
and   since  then  all  the  Avesnes  have  called 
their  daughters  Corysande.    It's  traditional. 

—  Perfectly.     But  I  can't  see  what  Hen- 
ry IV.  has  to  do  with  all  this. 

-  That's  what  I  said...  you  don't  know- 
exclaimed  Darling,  laughing, --Henry  IV. 
is  concerned  in  all  this. . .  because  it  is  on  ac- 
count of  the  beautiful  Corysande  that  our 
ancestors  felt  flattered  in  having  her  for  a 
godmother. . .  and  the  beautiful  Corysande  is 
celebrated  because  Henry  IY. . . 

-  Yes,  yes  —  interrupted  Mme.  de  Bar- 
fleur,  fearing  that  her  son's  ignorance  should 
be  displayed. 

Ignorant  herself,  she  knew  the  dangers 
of  this,  and  possessed  the  silent  tact  that 
women  have  habitually  in  such  cases. 

The  Due  d'Aubieres  looked  at  the  other 
portraits,  and  asked,  pointing  to  a  general 
of  the  Empire : 

—  "Who  is  this  one? 


A   GALLIC    GIEL.  239 

-  This     one  —  answered     Two      Cents' 
"Worth  of  Butter,  looking  at  the  strong  Her- 
cules resting  on  his  sword  in  heroic  pose — 
this  one  is  my  grandfather. 

_  Oh  —  said  Darling,    astonished  —  he 
doesn't  look  much  like  you. 

And  continuing  her  examination  of  Gen- 
eral de  Barfleur,  with  benevolent  respectful- 
ness she  added : 

-  It  is  not  surprising  that  these  beings 
did  great  things. 

-  It    is     unfortunate  -  -  declared     Two 
Cents'  Worth  of  Butter  —  that  these  great 
things  were  done  for  the  glory  of  Bonaparte. 

-  For  the  glory  of  France,  you  mean  - 
corrected  Darling. 

-  No,  -  -  replied  little  Barfleur,  happy  to 
hold    a     subject   of    conversation  --  these 
things  served  Bonaparte  only.      And  Bona- 
parte, in  the  eyes  of  society,  will  never  be 
anything  other  than  an  enemy  of  France. 

-  In  the  eyes  of  people  in  society,  you 
mean  —  exclaimed  Darling,  whose  little  ears 
reddened, — an    enemy    of    France !...  the 
Emperor. . .  and  it  is  the  emigrants  who  re- 


240  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

turned  from  Coblentz  who  dare  to  call  him 
thus  !  They  arrived  at  a  fine  result. . .  Louis 
XVIII. 

Little  Barfleur  declared  with  unction  : 

-  Louis  XVIII.  was  a  great  king. 

-  A    great    king !  -  -  said    Coryse  -      a 
great    king!  that  manikin!...    the   fact  is 
that  you  do  not  care  about  it. . .  Louis  XVIII. 
is  nothing  to  you.     You   defend  the  king 
for  the  same  reason  that  you  go  to  mass. . . 
it's  stylish.     You  think  it  is  not  stylish  to 
be  an  imperialist  because  they  are  all  poor 
and  strong. 

-  Thanks    for     the     imperialists,    Miss 
Coryse  -  -  said  the   Due  d'Aubieres,   who 
bowed  laughingly. 

Mme.    de   Bray   rushed  toward  Darling, 
and,  threateningly,  said  to  her : 

-  You  are  absolutely  ridiculous. 
The  girl  replied  sincerely : 

-  That  doesn't  surprise  me?    But  why  do 
they  talk  against  my  emperor !     Moreover, 
you  told  me  to  talk,  to  say  anything. . .  but 
talk ! 

Disquieted  at  the  thought  that  her  son 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  241 

might  enter  into  another  conversation,  Mme. 
de  Barfleur  proposed  a  dance. 

Trene,  M.  de  Bernay  and  Count  de  Liron 
ran  toward  Darling.  But  little  Barfleur, 
who  was  already  near  her,  took  hold  of  the 
young  girl.  Coryse  stepped  back,  say- 
ing: 

-No...  I... 

She  was  going  to  say  "  I  am  to  dance  with 
M.  d'Aubieres,"  she  motioned  to  the  Due 
to  come  to  her  aid,  but  reflected  that  it 
would  be  useless.  Vague  as  her  notions 
were  on  politeness,  she  understood  that  she 
would  have  to  dance  at  least  once  with  the 
master  of  the  house. 

And  as  Two  Cents'  Worth  of  Butter  had 
stopped : 

-  No...  nothing...  all  right! 

If  the  descendant  of  the  Barfleurs  did  not 
know  how  to  talk,  he  knew  how  to  waltz 
marvellously,  and  Darling  felt  real  pleasure 
in  traversing  the  immense  parlor.  Her 
partner  made  her  pass  into  a  dimly  lighted 
room,  saying  that  there  was  more  space 
there. 


242  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-But    the    others?  —  asked  Darling  - 
looking  to  see   if  Genevieve  de  Lussy  and 
Mme.  de  Liron  were  following. 

The  Vicomte  stopped,  to  call  the  dancers. 
-  They  are  coming —  he  said. 

And  he  started  anew. 

But  they  remained  alone  in  the  wide, 
empty  room.  Mme.  de  Liron  liked  to  waltz 
only  for  spectators,  and  Mme.  de  Lussy, 
who  knew  her  daughter,  never  allowed  her 
to  be  at  a  distance  from  the  maternal  eye. 

-  They   think  Mme.    de  Liron   is   very 
pretty  —  asked  Darling. 

Since  the  morning  the  young  woman's 
image  haunted  her,  and  she  could  not  re- 
frain from  talking  about  her. 

Little  Barfleur  replied : 

-  It's  especially  your  Uncle  de  Bray  who 
thinks  her  pretty. 

-  Oh  —  said  Coryse  gravely. 

-  But  you,   Mademoiselle,  what  do  you 
think  of  her? 

-  Too  round...  and  you? 

_  I  _  replied  Two  Cent's  Worth  of  But- 
ter, pressing  Coryse  against  his  shoulder  — 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  243 

I  never  look  at  her.     I  see  only  you.     You 
are  so  beautiful. . . 

In  a  low  voice  he  added : 
-  It  is  you  whom  I  love ! 

Darling  had  not  heard.  Lost  in  the  pleas- 
ure of  waltzing  she  was  frankly  leaning  on 
little  Barfleur's  arm.  Emboldened  by  this 
abandon,  he  bent  toward  her  and  murmured 
in  an  accent  which  he  did  his  best  to  render 
passionate : 

—  I  love  thee ! 

He  spoke  so  near  to  her  that  his  breath 
stirred  her  hair.  Stupefied,  she  stopped 
short,  and  starting  backward,  exclaimed  in- 
dignantly : 

—  Well!    That  is  cheeky  ! 


XIII. 


-  Will  you  —  exclaimed  the  marquise  in 
the  library  where  M.   de   Bray  and   Marc 
were   smoking,  -  -  will  you  tell  Corysande 
that  she  must  come  to  the  races.     She  has 
just  declared  that  she  would  not  go. 

-  But  —  said  Darling,  coming  after  her 
mother  -  -  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  go  to 
the  races...  I  never  went  before. 

-  Then  you  were  only  a  child. 
The  marquis  decided  to  talk : 

-  Why  don't  you  go,  Darling  ?     You  like 
horses  so  much. 

-  It's  precisely  because  I  like  horses  that 
I  do  not  like  races.     It  doesn't  amuse  me 
to  see  a  horse  fall  with  a  broken  leg...  as  it 
happened  at  Auteuil  two  years  ago. 


A    GALLIC    GIEL.  245 

-  But  an  accident  like  this  doesn't  always 
happen. 

-Like  this,  or  something  else...  but  it 
isn't  for  that  only  that  I  do  not  want  to  go 
to  the  races. 

-  You  should  not  say  I  do  not  want  - 
observed  M.  de  Bray. 

Docilely  Darling  corrected : 

—  That  I   would  like  not  to  go  to  the 
races. 

-Why  is  it  then? 

—  Because  it  bothers  me  to  be  forever 
among  a  lot  of  people.     I  like  to  be  alone 
and  quiet. . .  with  animals. 

She  looked  affectionately  at  her  stepfather 
and  at  her  uncle,  and  finished : 

-  Or  with  you...  This  morning,  mass!... 
in  a  moment  races ! . . .  to-night,  the  ball ! . . . 
it's  too  much  for  a  day. 

Mme.  de  Bray  lifted  her  eyes  to  heaven : 
-The  mass!...  She  puts  the  mass  in  the 
same  category  as  the  rest. 
Darling  straightened  up : 

-  Yes,  certainly. . .  when  it  is  mass  like 
this  morning's...  you  would  not  let  me  go 


246  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

to  St.  Marcien  under  the  pretext  that  you 
needed  Jean  in  the  house. 
-Well? 

-  Well,  you  brought  me  to  the  Jesuits 's, 
and  the  mass  there  is  not  a  mass.     It's  a 
five  o'clock  tea  in  the  morning.     To-day  you 
spoke  to  more  than  fifty  persons. 

-  But  you  also  spoke  to  them.     I  do  not 
see  why  you  complain. 

—  That  is  exactly  what  I  complain  of. 

-  I  don't  see  what  there  is  to  complain 
of  in  meeting  society  people. 

-  It  is  a  question  of  taste.     It  aggravates 
me !     When  I  shall  have  seen  it  at  the  ball 
to-night  I  will  have  had  enough  of  society 
forever.     If  I  am  forced  to  go  to  the  races, 
surely  I  shall  sleep  in  the  parlor  to-night. 

-  One  cannot  obtain  anything  from  that 
girl  —  said  the  marquise.] 

And  she  went  out. 

-  I  do  not  understand  —  began  M.   de 
Bray  -  -  why  you  do  not  go  to  the   races 
with  your  mother. 

-  Why  don't  you  understand?     I'd  like 
to  see  you  go  to  the  races ! 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  247 

-  It's  different  with  me.     I  have  a  ter- 
rible cold,  I  have  just  got  up,  and  I  am 
hardly  presentable. 

-  And  I   haven't   recovered    from   yes- 
terday's dinner. 

Uncle  Marc  asked : 

—  Well,  how  was  the  dinner? 

-  Bothersome. . .  and     yet,    happily,    M. 
d'Aubieres  was  there.     If  it  had  not  been 
for  him... 

-  Ah !  -  -  said  the  marquis  —  Aubieres 
has  returned? 

-Yes...  —  replied  Uncle  Marc  --he 
came  this  morning  while  you  were  out.  He 
wanted  to  see  you  and  apologized  for  not 
coming  back  the  other  night  to  say  good- 
night to  your  wife  and  you,  after  his  walk 
with  Darling  in  the  garden. . .  and — he  added, 
laughingly,  -  -  Do  you  know  what  Darling 
said  to  him?...  don't  try  to  guess...  She 
said,  gently:  "I  would  rather  you  would 
know  why  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  you... 
well,  I  do  not  wish  to  marry  you  because  I 
am  certain  that  if  I  did,  I  would  deceive 
you." 


248  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  Oh  —  said  M.  de  Bray,  laughing. 
Coryse  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

-  So  you  think  that's  funny...  it  would 
have  been  better  to  let  him  believe  a  lot  of 
things,  I  suppose... 

—  I  don't  see  that  he  could  have  thought 
anything  worse  —  said  Uncle  Marc. 
She  asked,  anxiously : 

-  Is  he  cross  about  it? 

-  He!...  he  doesn't  even  think  of  it. 

-  I  was  saying  to  myself :   "It  isn't  pos- 
sible that  he  is  cross  with  me...  he  was  too 
amiable  with  me  during  the  dinner  "...  for 
I  had  the  good  luck  to  be  seated  next  to 
him. 

-  Then,  everything  went  well? 

-  Hasn't  mother  told  you? 

-  I  saw  your  mother  at  breakfast  only. . . 
you  were   there  ...  you  know  that  we  did 
not  talk  of  yesterday. 

-  Well  ...  I  made  a  bull,  all  the  same . . . 
firstly,  about  Henry  IV. 

-  About  Henry  IV.  ?  —  asked  M.  de  Bray 
in  astonishment. 

-  Yes  . . .  because  when  they  were  look- 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  249 

ing  at  his  portrait  I  said  that  he  didn't 
have  a  Protestant's  mug.  So,  you  under- 
stand, because  of  the  Lirons,  it  wasn't  a 
success. 

-  It's  a  strange  mania  that  you  have  of 
going  for  the   Protestants  all   the  time  ... 
people  who  have  no  other  faults  than  to  be 
a  little  too  virtuous !     They  humiliate  us. . . 

-  Well  —  said  Uncle  Marc  —  if  you  have 
done  nothing  else ! 

-  Yes,  I  did  something  else,  but  it  was 
mother's  fault.     She  told  me  to   talk,    to 
talk  even  if  I  had  nothing  to  say.     Then, 
as   soon   as    I   found  something   I  jumped 
at  it,  you  may  well  think. 

-Let's    hear    the  second  bull — asked 
Uncle  Marc. 

-  It  isn't   exactly  a  bull...  but    I    got 
angry  and  said  things  which  I  should  not 
have  said...  about  Napoleon. 

-  Oh ! —  said  M.  de  Bray  with  a  fright- 
ened air  —  if  they  attacked  Napoleon !... 

-  Yes,  you  know  that  I  hate  that  more 
than  anything  else. 

-  Then  you  were  not  polite? 


250  A    GALLIC    GIEL. 

-  Yes  . . .  that  is  ...  if  you  like. . . 

And  she  declared,  after  a  moment  of 
silence : 

-  In  any  case,  I  was  more  polite  than  the 
master  of  the  house. 

-  How  ?  —  asked  the  marquis  in  aston- 
ishment.—  M.  de  Barfleur  is  precision  itself. 

-  Not  with  me ! 

-  What  did  he  do  to  you ! 

-  It     happened     while    waltzing...    he 
brought  me  into  a  gallery,  under  the  pre- 
text that  there  was  more  room  there...  now 
let's    see  what    happened...  oh,    yes...  he 
began  by  telling  me  that  Mme.  de  Liron  was 
round...  that    is...  no...  I    said    that...  he 
was  repeating  to  me  that  I  was  pretty. 

As  she  stopped  Uncle  Marc  asked 
anxiously : 

—  And  then? 

-And  then...    suddenly...    he  bent  and 
said : 

Imitating  the  concentrated  and  circum- 
stantial voice  that  little  Barfleur  had  bor- 
rowed for  the  occasion,  she  murmured : 

—  I  love  thee. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  251 

The  intonation  was  so  droll,  that  in  spite 
of  his  discontent  Uncle  Marc  laughed. 

Coryse,  irritated,  turned  towards  him  and 
her  stepfather  and  asked : 

-  You  think  that  it  was  right? 

With  a  conciliating  manner  M.  de  Bray 
replied  in  a  soft  voice : 

-  The  English  talk  in  that  way  to  God ! 
Darling  replied,  deliberately : 

-  Because  they  are  no  good. 

-  Well,  now  —  said  the  marquis,  discon- 
tented at  his  lack  of  success  —  its  England's 
turn  now...    you  want  to  put  us  at   odds 
with  the  entire  world. . .  I  am  not  severe,  but 
you  have  such  a  way  of  talking. . . 

-You  must  forgive  me...  it's  instinctive. 
And  after  a  moment  she  asked  : 

-  Is  that  joke  to  last  for  some  time? 

—  What  joke? 

-  Little  Barfleur.     I  do  not  like  to  put 
on   airs,    but  it  does  not  flatter  me   that 
people   think   I   am   to   marry  Two   Cents' 
Worth  of  Butter. 

The  marquis  said,  timidly : 

—  He  is  gentle ! 


252  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-Gentle  -  -  said  the  girl--  gentle?... 
he  is  grotesque !    He  is  ridiculously  dressed ! 
He  is  perfumed. . .  yes,  he  puts  perfume. . . 
white  heliotrope,  on  his  clothes. 

-  Well,  there  are  circumstances  when  a 
man  might  use  perfume. 

—  No,  —  exclaimed  Darling  —  A  man  has 
no  right  to  smell  of  anything  but  tobacco... 

And  addressing  Uncle  Marc  : 

-  It  makes  you  laugh.     You  think  it's 
funny.      Now    you     are     becoming    very 
wicked  to  me...  very  wicked.      It  began 
long  ago...   but  it    has    increased   since   a 
few   days.      It   began   the  night  that  that 
frightful     little     Barfleur     dined     at     the 
house. 

As  the  Yicomte  tried  to  protest,  she  said  : 

-  Oh,  I  am  not  saying  that  you  are  not 
good  to  me.     You  give  things  to  me.     You 
gave  me  a  gown...  a  very  beautiful  one.     I 
will  put  it  on  to-night,  because  it  is  much 
more  stylish  than  papa's.     Yes.     You  give 
me  things. . .  but  as  for  liking  me. . . 

-  Yes,  I  like  you. 

—  No !     If  you  liked  me  would  you  wish 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  253 

to  see  me  marry  a  monkey  like  little  Bar- 
fleur? 

-  But  I  say  nothing  to... 

-  You  say  nothing  in  favor. . .  but   you 
say  nothing  against,  either ?  ...  and  I  do  not 
want  the  monkey. 

She  walked  toward  Unole  Marc,  and  con- 
tinued, bitterly: 

-  Anyway,  it's  your  fault  if  they  torment 
me...  if  they  want  to  marry  me...  yes...  it's 
your  dirty  money's  fault !   Without  it,  they 
would  let  me  alone  in  my  corner,  as  they 
did  before. 

And,  hiding  her  face  in  Lher  hands,  she 
began  to  cry. 

-  Don't  trouble  her  —  said  Marc  to  M. 
de  Bray,  who  wished  to  talk  to  her  —  her 
nerves  hurt  her.     Let  us  go,  let  her  cry. . . 
it  will  do  her  good. 

As  they  were  going  out  of  the  library  the 
marquis  looked  at  Darling,  who  was  still 
crying,  and  said : 

-  She  never  had  any  nerves.     All  this  is 
not  natural.     If  she  were  in  love  with  some- 
body I  shouldn't  be  surprised. 


254  A   GALLIC    GIEL. 

-  You     are     crazy  -  -   exclaimed     Mark 
-  Whom  should  she  love? 
And,  anxiously : 

-It  couldn't  be  Trene,..  nor  Bernay... 
nor  Liron. 

As  his   brother  said   nothing,  he  asked 
violently : 

-Then?...  who?...  who?...  who?... 
M.  de  Bray  replied : 
—  How  can  you  expect  me  to  know? 


XIV. 


-  Where  did  Uncle  Marc  go  ?  —  asked 
Darling,  entering  the  parlor  a  few  minutes 
before  the  guests  —  I  looked  for  him  every- 
where and  cannot  find  him. 

-  You  know  very  well  that  he  is  closeted 
to-night  —  said  the  marquis  —  what  do  you 
want  of  him? 

-  I  want  to   show   him   my  gown.     He 
saw  me  in  it  in  the  daytime  only,  and  I  am 
so  much  better  at  night ! 

-You  can  show  it  to  him  at  another  time, 
he  is  cross  to-night. 

And  he  added,  laughingly : 

-  It  seems  that  everybody  has  his  nerves 
to-day. 

—  Yes  —  said  Coryse  —  I  saw  at  dinner 


256  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

that  he  looked  strange.     What  is  the  matter 
with  him,  do  you  think? 

-He  has  a  bad  temper  —  declared  the 
marquise. 

—  Oh  —  protested  Darling  —  that  is  not 
so. 

Then  returning  to  her  notion : 

-  I  will  go  and  look  for  him. 

—  No  —  said  Mme.  de  Bray  —  stay  here. . . 
people  are  coming  already. 

The  joyful  face  of  the  girl  was  darkened : 

-  It  is  true,  it  is  ten  o'clock.     Who  will 
be  the  first  to  come?     I  bet  it  will  be  the 
most  bothersome. ..  it's  exactly  as  I  said... 
it's  the  Bassignys. 

It  was  in  fact  Mme.  de  Bassigny,  tight- 
ened in  a  dazzling  silvery  gown ;  followed  by 
the  Colonel,  tightened  also  in  a  uniform  too 
narrow,  which  made  a  fold  at  his  shoulders. 
Mme.  de  Bassigny  seemed  vexed  to  be  the 
first  to  arrive.  She  did  not  think  that  it 
was  stylish,  and  charged  the  Colonel  with 
this  lack  of  elegance. 

Then,  in  a  pointed  voice,  she  asked  Coryse 
if  her  political  discussion  of  the  night  before 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  257 

had  not  prevented  her  going  to  sleep.  The 
girl  replied  that  she  had  so  excellent  a 
faculty  for  going  to  sleep,  "  she  slept  even 
after  the  most  bothersome  evenings." 

New  arrivals  interrupted  the  conversa- 
tion. 

Little  Barfleur  entered,  visibly  anxious 
about  the  results  of  his  declaration.  He 
confessed  to  himself  that  he  had  feigned  too 
much  and  had  not  given  the  right  note. 

The  indifferent  reception  of  Darling,  who 
seemed  not  to  remember  anything,  reas- 
sured him. 

The  arrival  of  Count  Axen  produced  upon 
him  the  effect  of  a  douche.  He  examined 
him  at  first  with  great  respect,  moved  by 
the  presence  of  a  real  prince,  but  soon  he 
forgot  the  prince  and  saw  only  the  rival. 

The  coming  of  this  little  fellow,  younger 
and  not  much  handsomer  than  he,  consider- 
ably diminished  his  prestige. 

When  the  orchestra  began,  Two  Cents' 
Worth  of  Butter  rushed  towards  Coryse, 
but  arrived  before  her  at  the  very  instant 
when  Count  Axen  led  her  away.  He  saw 


258  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

discouraging! y  that  the  prince  waltzed  mar- 
vellously. 

And  not  only  he  would  have  that  night 
the  success  which  was  his  right,  but  also 
success  deserved  as  a  man.  Of  that,  little 
Barfleur  could  not  be  consoled. 

He  ran  toward  Mme.  de  Liron — delight- 
ful and  dazzling  in  her  pink  gown —  and 
asked  for  a  waltz. 

But  little  de  Liron  desired  to  be  seen  by 
Count  Axen,  and  knew  that  little  men  do 
not  give  value  to  women  who  dance  with 
them.  She  replied,  a  little  embarrassed : 

-  In  a  moment...  I  have  just  arrived... 
let  me  breathe. 

Then  turning  to  the  marquis : 

-  Then  it's   serious?    Your    bear   of  a 
brother  is  not  here? 

—  It's  very  serious. 

-  And  he  won't  appear? 

-  And  he  won't  appear. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  ceiling : 

—  He  is  up  there?...  above  all  this  noise. 

—  Yes. 

—  What  concern  is  that  of  hers,  where 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  259 

he  is?  —  asked  Coryse  to  herself,  looking 
at  the  young  woman,  fresh  under  her  aure- 
ole of  diamonds. 

Nothing  in  this  round  doll  pleased  Dar- 
ling. But  seeing  the  enthusiasm  that  little 
de  Liron  excited,  she  said  to  herself,  with  a 
painful  effort  to  understand  this  admiration 
which  she  could  not  explain : 

-  She  must  be  pretty ! 

The  Due  d' Aubieres  came  to  her : 

-  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Mademoi- 
selle Darling...  you  look  like  a  conspirator. 

Coryse  blushed. 

—  I  am  thinking  of  nothing. 

-  You  look  as  if  you  were. . .  I  would  say 
that  you  looked  sombre,  if  this  ugly  word 
could  be  applied  to  you. 

And  as  the  girl  was  muttering  an  insig- 
nificant reply,  he  asked  affectionately : 

-  Are  you  troubled  about  anything? 

—  No  ...  I  have  nothing  to  trouble  me  — 
said  Darling  quickly.     And,  trying  to  put 
an  end  to  his  questions,  which  embarrassed 
her,  she  asked : 

—  Uncle  Marc's  election  is  sure,  isn't  it? 


260  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  I  think  so,  but  lie  doesn't  seem  to  care 
much  for  his  election.    I  saw  him  this  morn- 
ing and  he  didn't  say  three  words  about  it. 
He  seems  to  have  forgotten  all  about  it. 

-  Ah  —  said  the  girl,  anxiously. 
And  at  once  she  thought : 

-  It's  perhaps  because  he  is  thinking  of 
Mme.  de  Liron. 

The  Colonel  observed  the  vague  look  of 
Coryse  and  a  little  pout  on  her  lips : 

-  Mademoiselle   Darling,    you   are  very 
far    from   here...  very  far...  in   a    country 
that  is  blue... 

She  replied,  without  knowing  that  she 
was  talking : 

-  Not  so  blue  as  you  think ! 

Little  by  little  they  had  come  to  the  large 
bay  windows  open  on  the  garden.  The 
night  was  cloudy,  a  leaden  heat  enveloped 
them. 

-  It  is  stifling  in  there  —  said  Darling, 
shaking  her  heavy  hair. 

And  she  went  out,  followed  by  M.  d'Au- 
bieres. 

—  Hello  —  exclaimed  the  Due  —  there's 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  261 

Marc !  He  is  going  and  coming  peacefully 
in  his  room,  without  suspecting  that  we  can 
see  him  from  here. 

Darling  looked  up  and  saw  the  tall  silhou- 
ette of  Uncle  Marc,  dark  in  the  luminous 
frame  of  the  window. 

Mme.  de  Liron  came  into  the  garden  with 
M.  de  Bray.  She  also  saw  the  Yicomte. 

She  exclaimed,  joyfully : 

—  It  would  be  a  good  joke  to  go  up  and 
say  good-night  to  your  brother  . . .  what  do 
you  think? 

-  But  —  replied  the  marquis  —  I  do  not 
know. 

-Yes  ...  let's   do  it...  it  would  be  so 
droll. 

And  addressing  the  Colonel : 

-  Will  you  come,  M.  d'Aubieres? 

-  No,    madame,    I   am   afraid   that  my 
friend  Marc  would  show  me  the  door. 

-  And  to  me? —  asked  the  young  woman, 
smilingly  —  do  you    think    that  he  would 
show  the  door  to  me  also? 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  she  turned 
toward  M.  de  Bray : 


262  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  If  I  went  up  ...  softly  ...  by  the  library 
stairway  ...  it    would     be     a    good     joke, 
wouldn't  it? 

-  Excellent !  —  muttered  Darling  in  an 
infinitely  impertinent  tone. 

-  Escort  me  M.  de  Bray,  won't  you? 

-  Madame,  I  have  to  look  out  for  a  lot  of 
things  —  exclaimed  the  marquis,  much  em- 
barrassed by    the  part    which   the    young 
woman  was  trying  to  make  him  play  -  -  but 
Aubieres  will  escort  you. 

-  To  the  stairway  —  said  the  Due  smil- 
ingly. 

Coryse  remained  alone. 
Trene,  magnificent  in  his  uniform,  came 
down  the  stoop : 

-  At  last  I  may  bow  to  you,   Mademoi- 
selle ! 

Darling,  who  was  rushing  to  follow  M. 
d' Aubieres  and  Mme.  de  Liron,  was  dissat- 
isfied with  being  hindered  in  her  move- 
ments. 

-  But  you  have  bowed  to  me  already  - 
she  said  drily. 

She  had  raised  her  voice.     The  silhouette 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  263 

of  Uncle  Marc   came   to   the  balcony   and 
stayed  there  immovable. 

-  I  bowed  to  you  when  I  came  in,  but  I 
could  not  congratulate  you  on  your  pretty 
gown. 

Coryse  replied  nothing,  and  he  continued 
in  a  tone  full  of  mystery : 

-  Is  it  the  gown  that  is  pretty?     I  would 
not  pay   an   ordinary   compliment  to   you, 
Mademoiselle.     I  would  not  repeat  to  you 
what  has  been  said  to  you  a  hundred  times 
since  last  night...  but  you  are... 

—  Charming — interrupted  Darling,  laugh- 
ingly —  yes,  that's  understood. 
And  she  added,  harshly : 

-  And  if  that  is  all  you  have  to  say  to 
me... 

M.  de  Trene  replied  : 

-  But  I  would  like  to  ask  you  to  dance 
with  me. 

-  What  dance? 

-  Whatever  you    select. . .  The    first,   if 
you  like? 

-  The  first  is  promised  to  Count  Axen. 
—  Again? 


264  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  How  again? —  said  Coryse  impatiently 
-  are  you  to  count  how  many  times  I  dance 

with  this  or  that  person? 

She  stopped  short.     It  seemed  to  her  that 
Uncle  Marc   was   bending   over  them   and 
listening.     But  she  did  not  dare  to  look  up. 
Trene  said  : 

-The  second  waltz,  then? 
-Promised  to  M.   d'Aubieres...  do  you 
wish  the  fourth  from  now? 
Count  Axen  came,  shouting : 

-  It's  my  waltz,  Miss  Darling. 

At  the  window  the  tall  shadow  of  Uncle 
Marc  was  agitated,  and  Coryse  thought : 

-  I  will  wager  that  at  this  moment  he 
has  his  eyebrows  knit. 

—  .Mademoiselle  —  asked  M.  de  Trene 

I  would  like  to  have  the  honor  of  being  in- 
troduced to  Count  Axen. 

Darling,  regretfully  taking  her  eyes  from 
the  window,  turned  towards  the  prince  : 

-  Will  you  permit  me,  Monseigneur? 
And  as  he  bowed,  she  said : 

-  Monsieur  de  Trene. 

I  am  glad  to  know  you  sir  —  said  Count 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  265 

Axen,  extending  his  hand  to  the  officer  - 
we  are  to  be  companions  next  week.     I  am 
authorized  to  assist  at  the  manoeuvres,  and 
I  am  to  walk  with  you. 

Then  encircling  her  waist  with  his 
arm: 

-  Will  you  waltz  on  this  wide  varanda. . . 
we  can  hear  the  music  very  well. . .  and  it  is 
stilling  in  the  parlors. 

She  did  not  dare  to  resist,  and  still  feared 
to  displease  Uncle  Marc,  immovable  at  his 
balcony. 

When  the  prince  stopped,  he  said  to 
Coryse : 

-  I  regret  not  to  see  your  uncle  to-night. 

-  He  is  in  his  room  because  he  is  in 
mourning  —  she  muttered,  looking  furtively 
at  the  window. 

-He  is  a  charming   young  man...    we 
have  walked  together  a  great  deal  lately. 

-  Hello  —  thought  the  girl  —  he  has  said 
nothing  to  me  about  it. 

Count  Axen  said : 

-  M.  de  Bray  has  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful minds  that  I  know. 


266  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  Hasn't  he,  Monseigneur!  —  exclaimed 
Darling. 

- 1  would  be  glad  —  lie  continued  —  if 
the  manoeuvres  permit  me  to  go  with 
him. 

_  Go?  —  asked  the  girl  —  Go  where? 

-  Hasn't  he  told  you? 

-  Yes  —  she  said,  trying  to  learn  —  he 
told  me. . .  almost. . . 

-Well,  immediately  after  the  elections 
M.  de  Bray  will  travel  for  two  months. 
-Ah! 

-  He  wants  to  see  a  great  many  things. 
He  is  trying  to  do  a  great   deal   of  good. 
Your  uncle  is  one  of  the  rare  men  who  spend 
their  lives  in  beautiful  deeds. 

-  Yes,  I  know  —  said  Coryse,  trying  hard 
not  to  cry. 

The  thought  that  Uncle  Marc  would  go 
overwhelmed  her.  At  his  return,  if  he  were 
elected,  he  would  go  to  Paris,  where  the 
Brays  did  not  go  until  the  Spring.  She 
would  not  see  him  again...  not  at  all. 

At  this  moment  the  Yicomte,  leaning  on 
the  balcony  rail,  turned  suddenly  toward 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  267 

the  interior  of  the  room.     Evidently  some- 
body had  just  entered. 

-  It    is  she  —  thought  Darling,   whose 
heart  was  beating. 

And,  as  the  waltz  was  finishing,  she 
bowed  to  the  prince  and  went  through  the 
groups  of  dancers  who  were  returning  to 
their  seats. 

When  she  entered  the.  library,  she 
went  up  the  old  oak  stairway  to  the  apart- 
ment of  the  Yicomte,  resolved  to  see,  to 
listen,  to  learn,  in  any  sort  of  way,  some- 
thing precise.  But  suddenly  she  stopped, 
discouraged. 

-  No  —  she  said  to  herself  -  -  It  would 
be  ugly...  and  anyway,  I  know  all  that  I 
want  to  know. 

A  rustle  of  tulle  and  silk  warned  her  that 
somebody  was  coming  down.  Rushing  rap- 
idly down  the  stairs,  she  hid  behind  the 
balustrade. 

Mme.  de  Liron  passed  by  her  and  re-en- 
tered the  parlor,  saying,  in  order  to  indi- 
cate that  she  was  not  trying  to  conceal  her 
visit : 


268  A   GALLIC    GIRL. 

-He  wasn't  glad...  just    imagine...  he 
almost  got  angry ! 

-  She  lies  —  thought  Darling  —  he  was 
charmed...    she   says    that  so   that   people 
won't  know. 

And  going  to  the  Vicomte's  door,  she 
opened  it  without  knocking. 

Seated  before  his  desk,  his  head  resting 
on  his  folded  arms,  Uncle  Marc  did  not  hear 
her  enter.  In  a  faint  voice  she  asked : 

—  What  did  she  do  to  you  ? 

At  his  niece's  voice  he  rose : 

-  What  do  you  come  here  for? 

When  she  saw  his  troubled  face  turned 
threateningly  toward  her,  Darling  felt  only 
unlimited  tenderness  toward  her  uncle, 
whom  she  liked  so  much.  She  forgot  every- 
thing. Repeating  in  surprise : 

-  You  are  crying. . .  what  are  you  crying 
for? 

And  timidly : 

-  It's  her  fault,  I  suppose... 
The  Vicomte  said  angrily : 

-  I  do  not  know  whom  you  call  "her," 
but   please  return  to   your  dances  and  to 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  269 

your  flirtations !    Go  listen  to  Irene's  com- 
pliments   and    waltz    in    the   garden  with 
Count  Axen  since  it  amuses  you. . .  but  let 
me  stay  here  alone  and  quiet. 
She  muttered : 
-Quiet...  crying? 

-  Crying,  if  it  amuses,  me... 

Darling  saw  two  large  open  boxes.     She 
asked : 

—  You  are  going? 
-How  do  you  know  that  I  am  going? 

-  It  is  Count  Axen  who... 
He  laughed : 

-  Oh,  you  talk  of  me  when  you  are  to- 
gether? 

-Yes.  He  said  that  you  were  to 
travel... 

And  as  he  made  no  reply,  she  asked  in  a 
trembling  voice : 

-  And  what  will  become  of  me? 
Without  looking  at  her  he  replied  in  a 

cutting  tone: 

-  I  hope  you  don't  think  that  I  could 
take  you  with  me. . .  or  stay  here  to  serve  as 
your  maid? 


270  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

—  Oh  —  said  Darling,   whose  eyes  were 
full  of  tears  —  how  you  talk  to  me,  Uncle 
Marc! 

-  Why  do   you  come  and   torment   me 
thus? 

She  stayed  a  moment  without  replying ; 
immovable  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  pink 
in  the  snowy  gown  which  sketched  the  pure 
lines  of  her  little,  young  and  vigorous  body. 
The  blonde  hair  which  floated  around  her 
gave  to  her  the  air  of  a  little  fairy,  odd  and 
unreal.  And,  in  spite  of  himself,  Marc, 
who  had  raised  his  head,  looked  at  her  with 
an  expression  of  immense  tenderness. 

Too  shortsighted  to  catch  his  glance,  Dar- 
ling asked,  after  a  long  reflection  : 

—  So  you  are  going  away  from  here,  ac- 
cording to  what  the  prince  has  said,  in  order 
to  do  beautiful  deeds? 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  girl 
continued : 

-  Well,  I  could  indicate  to  you  a  very 
beautiful  deed,  not  far  off ,  either. 

And  as  he  made  no  answer,  she  whispered : 
—  It  would  be  to  marry  me. 


A    GALLIC    GIRL.  271 

Become  very  pale,  the  Vicomte  walked 
toward  her : 

-  What  did  you  say? 

-  You  have  heard... 
He  replied : 

-Your   jokes  are  ferocious...  and    not 
funny. . . 

-  Jokes ! —  exclaimed    Coryse  —  I    love 
you    more   than   anything,  and    there   are 
moments  when  it  seems  to  me  that  you  also 
love  me  more  than  all  the  rest. . .  and  so  I 
tell  you  :   ' '  Marry  me. ' ' 

-  Darling  —  said     Uncle     Marc,    softly 
drawing  the  little  girl  to  his  arms  —  Oh, 
yes.     I  love  you.     I  love  you.     I  love  you. 

-  So  you  consent? 

He  was  covering  her  with  kisses.  She 
sighed : 

-  Oh,  how  good  it  is  to  be  kissed  by  you. 
Then,  in  a  burst  of  laughter : 

—  "What  faces  they'll  make  down-stairs 
when  they  know  this. 

Uncle  Marc  looked  at  Darling,  hesitating 
to  believe  that  she  was  his.  Bent  on  her 
face,  he  muttered  in  a  kiss : 


272  A    GALLIC    GIRL. 

-  Oh,  Darling,  if  you  knew  how  I  have 
been  unfortunate,  discouraged  and  jealous. 

-  Jealous?  ...  oh,  that  ...  you  shouldn't 
have  been. 

And  coming  closer  to  him,  she  said,  caress- 
ingly and  tenderly : 

-  ...  It  would  greatly  astonish  me  if  I 
ever  deceived  you. 


END. 


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